


You are all I need tonight (A Christmas Advent-Calendar)

by OutofOrm



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: (a tag i just shamelessly stole. sorry), Advent Calendar, Car Trouble, Cheesy, Childhood Memories, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas songs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enjolras is a drama queen, Fluff, Food, France (Country), Holidays, Hotel, M/M, POV Enjolras, R makes a damn good croque monsieur, Slow Burn, Snow, Snow Storm, but it's good cheese, gay hallmark, i talk a lot about food in fic apparently, it's a christmas love story, no beta we die like snowmen under the hot sun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27819571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutofOrm/pseuds/OutofOrm
Summary: “Hey, I heard you need a stable for the night?”“A single room would do. I don’t intent to give birth to a new messiah.”The guy broke into a roguish grin. “Pity, if they looked like you, I would actually consider joining their religion.”orEnjolras' broken car tyre, the weather, and a whole village community of weird people are determined that Enjolras should spend the days leading up to Christmas at a lovely little hotel in a small village.An Advent calendar including our favourite French revolutionaries in thick jumpers and winter weather.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s), background Combeferre/Courfeyrac - Relationship
Comments: 35
Kudos: 106





	1. Step into Christmas

[ _Step Into Christmas - Elton John_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/5pDaRonmzAV91HPxZVeiai?si=ZvT9cT4cSrSuqEsP_Zflcg)

He should have just taken the A4. It would have been fuss free – just one road and a 5-hours’ drive. He would have been back in Paris late that evening.

But no, he had to drop something off at a law firm in Nancy and then his navigation system thought it a good idea to send him in the direction of Troyes via country roads and not the motorway. He realised too late that - _somehow_ \- it had the setting on “exclude toll roads”.

Now Enjolras was somewhere in the middle of nowhere and his car had a flat tyre.

Amazing.

He was standing at the side of the road, stomping his feet on the ground to heat them up. His toes were already starting to tingle with cold. He knew very well that he couldn’t make a four-hours’ drive to Paris on a spare tyre. To get the number of a garage on the area, he had to call information, because the mobile reception in the middle of nowhere really was bad and googling would have meant freezing to death while the page loaded.

He memorized the number and dialled again. No one picked up.

“For fuck’s sake!”

He tried it again and – thank you very much – someone answered the phone. Enjolras explained his situation and where he was (or thought he was). Luckily, the guy on the other end sounded like he knew what he was talking about and promised to be there in twenty minutes.

Enjolras walked the little part of the street where he wasn’t in danger of being hit by a truck to stop his feet from turning into icicles. The light was already fading fast, even though it was hardly four pm.

As he tried to kick chestnuts as far away down the bank into the woods as he could he heard a car slowing down. A man in a grey coat hopped out of the truck.

“Hey! I’m Feuilly and I guess you called me about a flat tyre?”

Enjolras jogged back to his car and took the offered hand. “Yes, thank you for coming. It’s the rear wheel on the left side. I have a spare one but, honestly, I am not very talented with that sort of thing and I wouldn’t have made it back to where I wanted to go, so I figured I needed help.”

“Good thinking. I change it and then you can follow me to my garage.”

And with that, Feuilly started to work – efficiently and quick. It only took him ten minutes and then he told Enjolras to drive behind his truck.

“It will take about 30 minutes.”

“Back to Nancy?”

“No, we’ll drive to a small town called Remy-le-Château.” With that Feuilly smiled, put the last things in his car and disappeared inside. Enjolras sat himself behind his own steering-wheel, working on autopilot because his mind had started to whirl.

 _Remy-le-Château_.

He had not been aware that he was in this part of the Vosges.

Remy-le-Château.

He never thought he would visit that town again. Ever.

The drive took almost forty minutes because they had to drive quite slowly, but Enjolras appreciated the time to get his thoughts together.

‘ _What a day…_ ’

They entered the town after dusk had turned into pitch darkness. Chains of light illuminated the little square in front of a pompous house, no doubt the town hall. A church stood to the right, the spruces in front were decorated with huge straw stars. They passed through the town centre and headed down a small road and ended almost on the other side of town – it really was small – at a little garage, simply called _Feuilly Voiture_.

Enjolras climbed out of his car, burying his hands deep in his coat’s pockets.

“I will check if I have the right wheel – but I’m afraid that I’ll probably have to order it. It’s quite a new model and we don’t have a lot of those around here. Come in, it’s warmer there. You can wait while I have a look.”

Enjolras sat down in the little, stuffed office of _Feuilly Voiture_. He discovered an aquarium with no fish in it – at least he saw none. A very impressive rubber tree and a stack of books you wouldn’t necessarily expect in a car garage.

He had read a page of Murakami’s latest novel when Feuilly came back in. He pulled his hat off to reveal a head of outrageous red hair. He leaned against the desk and smiled apologetically at Enjolras.

“I am sorry. As I expected, I have no tyre I can put on your car. I need to order one tomorrow.”

“Oh. Meaning I won’t get back to Paris tonight?”

“Sorry. You can stay at the local hotel for the night. They always have a free room, and I bet you get a discount because of the circumstances. I will phone the owner immediately.”

Enjolras took a deep breath. It wasn’t that he _had_ to be in Paris tomorrow, he could phone work and cut more of his overtime. His boss would probably be really happy about it. Better to give him an extra free day than pay for the overtime.

“Thank you, that would be nice.” Enjolras smiled – though a little forced.

Feuilly had a quick phone call with someone, explained the situation in a few words and then was off to bring Enjolras his stuff from the car.

It only took a few more pages of Murakami until the door opened again and – together with a rush of cold air – a guy entered the office.

He was wearing an old military coat of the _Légion étrangère_ and had a woolly hat pulled deep into his face. He closed the door again and turned around to offer a smile to Enjolras that turned a bit loop-sided.

“Hey, I heard you need a stable for the night?”

“A single room would do. I don’t intent to give birth to a new messiah.”

The guy broke into a roguish grin. “Pity, if they looked like you, I would actually consider joining their religion.”

“How flattering.” His dry smile was met with an even wider grin.

“I’m Enjolras. My car broke down and Feuilly said it can only be fixed tomorrow.”

The other man took his hand and Enjolras realized that he had shocking green eyes and a sparkle in them that spoke of a sharp mind.

Surprisingly, Enjolras felt the urge to look away.

“Grantaire, nice to meet you. Feuilly said something like that. I’m here with my car. It’s not far but it is very cold and I wasn’t sure if you would walk or rather drive. Or if you were old and frail. Or, you know, pregnant with the new Messiah.”

Outside, Grantaire walked into the workshop and called for Feuilly who appeared and handed Enjolras his bag, telling him to stop by tomorrow around ten. Then they got into Grantaire’s car and off they went.

It was just a three minute drive and then Grantaire pulled into a small parking lot in front of a lovely house, built with the typical sandstone of the region and lit up by lights and a big candle in a lantern next to the door.

Enjolras followed Grantaire inside, where it was warm and looked like Enjolras always imagined Courfeyrac’s house would look like when he was seventy – cosy, a bit battered by the years, and very welcoming.

Grantaire was carrying his bag but put it onto a little armchair to step behind the counter and to pull something up on the computer.

“So, welcome at _Le Rosier_! I just need to put your details in our guest form and then I can show you your room.” While he talked, he pulled the hat off and wriggled out of his coat. Under that he was wearing a thick but soft looking white cable knit jumper and Enjolras had to swallow a bit because – well – those black curls were a beautiful thing, especially in combination with the green eyes.

He pulled out his wallet and handed his ID to Grantaire. He could see the grin tugging at his lips when he read his name and Enjolras was already expecting a remark but Grantaire said nothing.

“Okay, done. You will get room number three. Follow me!”

Once again, he took his bag and let Enjolras to the right through a door and then up some stairs. The whole house smelled gently like cinnamon and orange.

They halted in front of a door at the end of the corridor. Grantaire opened it with a key and let Enjolras into the room. It was small but in perfect proportions. The bed was opposite a window from which you could see the church tower and another window that looked onto a garden.

“In here is a little bathroom, just a shower I’m afraid. Towles are on the stool. If you are hungry, there is a bistro down the street next to the church or I can make you a sandwich – which, with drinks, is the only culinary room-service I can offer.” Grantaire put the bag on the table next to the window and turned to look at Enjolras who was standing next to the bathroom door. He chuckled when he saw the raised eyebrow on Enjolras face. A nice noise.

“Thank you.” Enjolras smiled, deciding that bad jokes were probably the way for this guy to break the ice with new guests.

“Hey, no problem! I’m here to help. Having car problems is bad enough but with the cold it’s terrible. You live in Paris, right? Were you on a business trip?”

“Yeah, I was in Strasbourg the last two days. How do you know?”

At that, Grantaire laughed a bit and pulled his hand through his hair. Then he gesticulated towards Enjolras.

“Well, you _are_ wearing a suit. Not really the normal tourist weekend getaway look.”

Enjolras felt his cheek heating up and grinned self-consciously.

“You are a regular Sherlock Holmes, I see. I had business meetings yesterday and today. No place to change after that, though a good jumper would have been better in the cold. But, to be honest, I didn’t expect the car to give up on me and having to stand around in the cold, so…” He could see Grantaire’s eyes examining him which, strangely, brought a little heat to his cheeks, normally he was used to people looking at him.

“Well, I’m glad you’re not freezing to death. If you like, we have a little breakfast in the morning from half-eight to half-ten. Now, settle in and if you need anything, I am somewhere around downstairs. There is a bell, feel free to use it.” With that Grantaire gave him another grin and left.

Enjolras stared at the door that closed behind him, until he realised what he was doing. He shook his head and changed out of his suit jacket into a sweater. Then he stood at the window and stared out into the darkness, eyes on the illuminated church tower without really seeing it.

‘ _Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…_ ’

[ _Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) – Darlene Love_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/46pF1zFimM582ss1PrMy68?si=_sdStYOlQtaYptdaoJrVow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The working title for this was "The Christmas Fic nobody asked for" and it's basically that. 
> 
> I know, not much happened yet, except for hinting...
> 
> I will put a chapter up every 2. day.  
> There will be music for every chapter, to set the mood.  
> If you have a favorite Christmas song, let me know!!! Maybe it will fit.


	2. Thinking about years gone by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see if Enjolras car can be fixed

[ _Christmas Caught Me Crying – Jamie Cullum_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/37abGTnb9KYgdADX5uYkLZ?si=stnqj-PSTbqs3QlKaODc5w)

Enjolras woke up around six am, as usual. For years now he didn’t really need an alarm in the morning. After a short moment of confusion as to where he was, he let himself sink back into the pillow, the thick duvet giving a feeling of comfort and cosiness. The bed was surprisingly comfortable and Enjolras decided that an hour more of sleeping wouldn’t hurt.

He woke up at eight, surprised that he had actually been able to doze off again.

Enjolras stood up and looked out of the window into a garden that promised to be beautiful in spring and summer but right now it was rather grey and brown, in places covered in white frost. He indulged in a long shower and dressed (in not really clean clothes, but there was nothing he could do about that at the moment).

He wandered slowly down the corridor and stairs. He had no problem finding the room with the breakfast, he only had to follow the wonderful smell of coffee. It was a room that faced the garden with big windows and a lot of natural light. Two couples were having breakfast, greeting him with a smile and a nod. A table was filled with croissants, jam, and some danish pastries. There were cookies in an impossible variety of shapes and kinds.

Enjolras got himself a big mug of coffee and a croissant and sat down at a table in the corner, picking up a newspaper, scanning the headlines.

He was reading an article on the proposed strikes of teachers when his host appeared. Grantaire said hello to the couples and then came over to him.

Enjolras was very aware of the fact that Grantaire’s jeans were pretty tight and his shirt pulled nicely over his shoulders, giving the impression of well-formed muscles underneath…

He put his paper down, gave himself a mental slap for inappropriate behaviour and smiled at Grantaire, who sat down on the free chair opposite Enjolras.

“I hope you had a good night?”

“Yes, I sleep very good. Two hours more than usual, surprisingly.”

“Good.” Grantaire smiled his loop-sided smile. “Do you want more coffee?”

“Yes, but you don’t have to – ” but Grantaire was already walking over to the buffet. He returned with two mugs of coffee.

“Well, _actually_ , I have to. Because I work here, you know,” he said when he returned.

“Smart ass.”

That made Grantaire laugh – it made his face become softer, his eyes crinkled, and little dimples appeared in his cheeks. Enjolras felt oddly smug about having made him laugh like that. He hid his own smile behind the mug.

“So, you work here.”

“Yes, good three seconds memory.” Grantaire replied with an overexaggerated tone of praise in his voice.

“Do you do all the chores? Check-in, breakfast, room service? Rescuing people who are stranded at the garage?”

“That’s exactly my job description.” Grantaire leaned back and crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking perfectly content. “I am the manager and the general dogsbody. Sometimes I get help from my friend Bossuet but most things I can manage on my own. It’s not a big place after all. My grandmother bakes the pastries and stuff. Have you had one of those?”

He jumped up and brought Enjolras a little apple pastry when he said he only had a croissant. Enjolras dutifully took a bite.

“Oh my god, this is good! Oh wow!” Enjolras chewed with closed eyes.

If he hadn’t been too absorbed by the exceptional taste, he would have seen a faint blush appearing on Grantaire’s cheekbones.

”It’s a family business, then?” Enjolras asked, after he had savoured every last crumb of apple-butter-sugar-goodness.

“Yeah, you can call it that. My Gran started _Le Rosier_ more than fifty years ago. I’m helping her now.”

“That’s nice. It’s a lovely house.” Enjolras smiled and Grantaire returned it with a shrug.

“Well, I have to go back to that, actually.” He gestured in the direction of the now deserted tables of the couples and stood up. “It’s quite cold outside but the sun’s out. Take a walk around town. And I think Feuilly will be at the garage around ten. If not, you’ll probably find him at the little bookshop he runs. You can leave your stuff in your room until your car is ready, no need to rush. We have no reservations.”

Enjolras drank the last of his coffee, eyed the table with the sweets again but decided against it. He would ask Grantaire if he could take some for the road (and Courfeyrac. He’d love them). He walked back to his room, put on his red peacoat, his hat and gloves, and headed out.

He felt a bit uneasy walking down the streets of the town.

He pulled his shoulders up and headed in the direction of town centre. He didn’t recognise anything. Yesterday he thought he would but now, in daylight, there was no spark of recognition. The town hall was like many others in rural French villages and the church had the sturdy build of many old churches in the eastern part of France.

Enjolras was standing on the square in front of the church, staring at it, lost in his thoughts.

‘ _It’s probably totally normal that I don’t remember anything. I was five after all_.’

He had to ask Combeferre about the capabilities of children’s memories. But he had the slight suspicion that he just didn’t _want_ to remember.

He walked a bit further through the town, looking at the shop windows that were decorated for Christmas. He saw the bookshop. It was closed, which probably meant that Feuilly was at the garage. He passed by a flower shop that had beautiful wreaths presented on racks on the pavement. Then he turned around to find the garage, which wasn't all that difficult.

Enjolras entered the office but nobody was there, so he stepped outside again to look at the workshop itself.

There he found Feuilly, bend over a table with a phone wedged between his ear and shoulder while he was scribbling on a piece of paper.

“Yes, thank you…no, don’t worry. I’ll call if something changes. Bye, and merry Christmas.” He put the phone down and turned around. Enjolras gave a little wave and came closer.

“Hey, Feuilly. I wanted to ask about the tyre.”

“Morning. That call was about that, actually. I phoned my dealer. He will only be able to bring it tomorrow.” Feuilly looked genuinely sorry.

“Ah sh…” Enjolras could fell contempt building in his chest. “Is there no other way to do it?”

Feuilly slowly shrugged. “One option is that you rent a car and drive back to Paris with that. Or you could borrow mine and then come back after Christmas and we exchange the cars. I could drive to Nancy and get the tyre but then I will be in trouble with my dealer because he gives me special prices and gets pissed when I buy from others.”

Enjolras pulled his hand through his hair and sighed heavily. His anger fizzled out, leaving only resignation.

“No, I don’t want you to suffer any consequences because of me and the stupid wheel. And I really can’t ask you to give me your car. I assume you need it too.” He shook his head. “And from the ecological point of view it is simply irresponsible to drive the distance three times.”

“That leaves us at…?” Feuilly sat down on the table, dangling his feet that didn’t quite reach the floor.

“I suppose I have to ask Grantaire if I can get that room for another night…”

Enjolras wondered why he was only slightly bothered by this turn of event. He’s stuck in a town that should bring back painful feelings and memories and that just a few days before Christmas, but somehow he wasn't feeling anything.

Very not-Enjolras.

“Thank you for being calm about it all,” said Feuilly at that moment. “I know it probably is far from ideal for you.”

Enjolras smiled and reassured him that it was no problem at all. He left Feuilly and walked back to the town centre where his feet, very much of their own doing, carried him into the church.

It was cold in there, the faint smell of incense in the air. The walls were bare of painting or decoration. Maybe they’ve always been like that or maybe it was a scar from the revolution. Enjolras sat down on a bench and stared at the altar.

He had never been a religious person. He had visited the Christmas mass with his parents because they loved it. But he had never found that certain something in it that made him actually believe that there was a God. Instead he believed in ideals, in (for lack of a better word) values, in the people. He believed in freedom, in justice, in the right of every person to be who they want to be. He believed that humankind can be good, that wrongs should be punished, and rights be supported. He believed that nobody was better than anyone else. Those ideas burned in his soul. They were the heat that fuelled him. No religious fervour but a passion for the people, for this world.

He was a big supporter of the democratic system. He knew that some things took time, that changing laws could be tedious work. But he could also find beauty in the words of the law, could feel the solemn atmosphere of some institutional events. He loved the history behind the way things worked today. He admired the people who had helped shape the way things are, and even more those who had been ahead of their time. Yes, he believed in the democratic institutions and the way the law was working and could work for the people. But he was also always one of the first to point out the weaknesses in the system. The big flaws, and the way it was sometimes used against those it should protect. He had dedicated his life to change that, to help build a just society.

But in the silence of the church he suddenly felt a wave of emptiness, a lack of his usual convictions. _Why_ was he doing this? Wasn't it all too abstract? Had he ever done anything in his life that immediately affected the people he always talked about? And was his newest plan not the same thing? Helping, but too abstract, too bureaucratic to do good?

Hadn’t his parents done the right thing? Helping individually? Making the world better by helping one person at a time?

Suddenly, Enjolras felt tears burning in his eyes. He hadn’t cried while thinking of his parents for years.

“Fuck!” He rubbed his eyes, putting his head in his hands, pressing the palms against his eyes.

“I am not sure swearing is appropriate in a church…but everyone should do as they please, I think.” A soft voice was coming from his right making Enjolras jump, knocking his knee on the bench in front of him – almost making him curse again.

A man in a bright yellow coat stood next to him, an impressive bundle of white lilies in his arm.

“Excuse me. I am so sorry!” Enjolras rubbed his hurting knee and tried to smile apologetically at the man, but it probably looked more like a grimace.

“Don’t worry. Are you okay?”

“Yes, I just hit my knee. You surprised me.”

“Sorry. I came to change the flowers.” He waved the lilies a bit and smiled at Enjolras but made no move to walk on.

“The flowers?” Enjolras felt like this was a very surreal moment. A guy in a canary yellow coat, and what seem to be purple leotards, was waiving flowers at him. A guy with flowers in his hair as well and a glass bauble on one ear. His whole appearance screamed papal condemnation – and yet he told him off for swearing in a church (kind of).

“For Christmas we always have some lilies on the altar, next to some roses,” he explained and then walked down the aisle and up to the altar where he put the flowers in a vase after getting the wilted ones out. Then he waved at Enjolras and left through a side door.

Enjolras sat down again, not sure if he just had some kind of vision. He really didn’t like the smell of incense.

With one last look at the pretty flowers on the altar (proof that the canary coat man had, indeed, been real) he left the church. His mind was still with his parents and the way he was handling his life at the moment. He knew that Courfeyrac would hug him and tell him not to worry too much and that Combeferre could explain how he had managed to improve the lives of the French people. But still…

He figured that another coffee would help him get his mind back on track. The bistro Grantaire had talked about the evening before was right next to the church. He entered and sat down at a table next to the window.

A bald man appeared and greeted him with more cheerfulness than you would normally expect at a French bistro.

“Hey, how can I help you?”

“A café au lait, please."

“Will be ready in a minute.” With that the guy disappeared behind the counter and Enjolras could hear the espresso machine coming to life with a lot of noise.

Enjolras took his phone out of his pocket and thought about calling Courf or Ferre but then he remembered that they were probably at work. He checked his Emails, but the page took endless time to load.

“We have wifi. Otherwise a carrier pigeon would be faster in bringing your letters.” The man was back and put an enormous bowl of coffee in front of Enjolras.

“Thank you, that’d be brilliant.” He smiled at the guy who beamed at him.

“It’s BistroBossuet. Very simple. So simple, even I cannot forget it. I am Bossuet, by the way.” He winked at Enjolras, laughed, and wandered off again.

Now Enjolras could see that he had a few Emails. Some looked important enough that he wrote short replies, telling them he would be in touch after he returned to Paris.

A message from Courf came through as well, asking him about the stay. Then he read a few online newspaper articles and enjoyed his coffee.

Once the bowl was empty, Bossuet appeared again.

“Do you need something else?”

“No, thank you. Well, maybe you can…” He wanted to ask about the number of _Le Rosier_ but was interrupted by the door opening and Grantaire himself walking in. “Oh nevermind.”

“Hey Bossuet honey. Can you make me an espresso? I am on my way to pick up Gavroche, but I slept terribly tonight. Shall I get you something while I’m there? I have to hop in the _Carrefour_ to buy Gran marzipan and shop for Ep, I can – oh, hi there!” Grantaire had spotted Enjolras next to Bossuet who was staring at him.

“You two know each other?” Bossuet was already on his way to the counter but looked over to Grantaire, which resulted in him walking into a table.

“Yes, he stayed at the hotel last night. I see you found the good coffee in town,” grinning, Grantaire sat down on a chair next to Enjolras.

“Yeah, about that. Is it possible that I use the room for another night?”

“Oh, what happened to your car? Don’t tell me Feuilly can’t fix it. He can fix anything!” Grantaire leaned forward a bit, looking surprised.

“No, it’s not his fault. But the tyre will be here only tomorrow, and the logical solution is for me to stay one more night. He actually offered me his own car, but I couldn’t do that.”

“Sounds like Feuilly,” Bossuet said when he put a little espresso cup in front of Grantaire.

“Yeah, he helps others without thinking about himself.” Grantaire nodded and then knocked back the espresso like it was a shot of vodka.

“Well, I know somebody else who’s just as selfless as that.” Bossuet smiled at Grantaire who – much to Enjolras’ surprise – flipped him the finger.

When Grantaire noticed Enjolras’ raised eyebrow he shrugged and grinned. “We all can only aspire to be like Saint Feuilly. The room’s yours, if you still have the key you can come and go as you like, it also works with the front door.”

“Thank you.” Enjolras smiled at Grantaire who returned the smile but turned to Bossuet next to him.

“So, anything I can get you? Gavroche is in school till three, I want to do the shopping before I pick him up, otherwise he will sneak ten pizzas in the trolley and three bags of sweets. Can’t have that – was embarrassing enough the last time at check-out. Poor cashier…” He trailed off.

Enjolras was starting to wonder if that Gavroche was Grantaire’s son. He didn’t look like he could have a kid old enough to be at school. Well, technically yes, but that would have been quite the teenage drama. And if there was a child, there probably was a mother. A strangely unpleasant thought.

“Nah, I’m good. Musichetta went shopping yesterday. Is Éponine working late again?”

Grantaire nodded. “Extra shift or something. I’ll drop them off at the station. I think Gavroche’s holidays start soon. Hopefully – he can help with Christmas preparations. Okay, I’m off. Thanks for the espresso, Bossuet.”

Grantaire was half-way out of the door, when Enjolras shouted: “Wait!”

Grantaire turned around looking surprised.

“Um, if you don’t mind - would it be possible to take me with you? I actually could use a trip to _Carrefour_.”

Bossuet looked confused and Grantaire raised an eyebrow.

“Sure – but _why_?”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting being away from home for more than two nights…”

Grantaire started to grin and chuckling a bit he said: “Well, come on. I don’t think we know each other long enough for me to guess the size of your underwear – DON’T comment on that, Bossuet.” He pointed a finger at his friend who barked out a laugh.

Enjolras paid his coffee and found himself, once again, in Grantaire’s old Citroën.

[ _The Heartache Can Wait – Brandi Carlile_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/6uwO0dWvF6q89BJOf8nNh8?si=rBvK1eTASBukC6YTcUmvLw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't ask how Grantaire came to know the size of Bossuet's boxer shorts the first time they met. (He's embarrassed by it.)  
> Also: I had a whole paragraph about the church and deleted it. My art major was showing and it was boring. By the way, I kind of morphed a few french villages that actually exist into one to create Remy-le-Château. A little to the west from Nancy there are villages called Les Roises, Domrémy-le-Pucelle, and Neufchateau. If you never been to France, take a look around on Google Maps. Also, Domrémy is the birthplace of Jeanne d'Arc. But i only realized that later...fitting, isn't it?
> 
> Please drop a Christmas song or movie rec in the comments! 
> 
> Christmas cookies for every kudo x  
> (well, I'm gonna eat them. But feel free to treat yourself to one, too)


	3. Someday at Christmastime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trip to Carrefour

[ _Someday at Christmas – Stevie Wonder_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/7ziHNBvbvVCSLeqdKDLQR4?si=Ehr72IxtRRK_UK1uEJGXdw)

It was a fifteen-minute ride to the next town with a bigger grocery store.

“Who’s Gavroche, if you don’t mind me asking?” Enjolras asked when Grantaire pulled out of the village street onto the bigger road.

“He’s the baby brother of a friend of mine, Éponine. Their parents are assholes so she is his legal guardian. She works as a police officer. Sometimes I go shopping for them because her hours are so fucked up. And if I’m around, I pick up Gavroche from school. The busses around here are a pain to be honest.”

“Sounds like they had a rather rough life.” Enjolras was – he would never admit it – slightly relieved that his suspicion about the paternity of the boy was not confirmed.

“Yeah,” Grantaire shrugged. “But they are happy now. We all help when we can. Anyway, you asked me a question. Can I ask you one, too?” He looked at him quickly before turning his eyes back on the road.

“Sure,” said Enjolras with an amused grin.

“What kind of business was it that brought you to Strasbourg?”

“I had an interview for a job.”

“At ENA?” The raised eyebrow and humourless smirk on Grantaire’s face were enough to tell Enjolras that this conversation would have gone south if that’d been the case.

“No. Why do you think that?”

Grantaire shrugged a bit. “To be honest, you look like you could be their poster boy.”

“Normally, I would not be offended by that, but you definitely make it sound like you judge everyone who ever set foot in there.” Enjolras crossed his arms in front of him.

“Oh, I do! They pretend not to be an elitist bunch of people but there’s evidence that tells a different story. And the graduates all have this strange kind of nepotism going on… anyway, if not ENA then?”

“I had an interview for the position of assistant for a judge at the European Court of Human Rights. That’s elitist to you as well?” Enjolras’ voice turned sharp.

He could see the sceptical look on Grantaire’s face even though he only saw half of his face.

“Well, not elitist. More like inefficient. Their trials take years and at the end, are any people actually sentenced? It’s more a façade – or even charade – than resulting in actual jurisdictive consequences.”

Enjolras had to admit that he was a tiny bit impressed that Grantaire seemed to know what he was talking about. But immediately he felt a feeling of uneasiness and anger settle in his stomach because that dismissive answer was far too general (although Grantaire had voiced the one argument Enjolras always pushed to the back of his mind).

“It’s the most efficient international court in the world! And their verdicts have weight – even if they don’t send someone to prison. For those affected it offers peace of mind to know that their cases are not dismissed.”

“That’s probably true. But how many proceedings actually come to such an ending that the people who start them feel like their case has been treated the way they expected? Aren’t there thousands of proceedings going on? Talk about efficiency…” Grantaire made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Of course it has its shortcomings. But that doesn’t mean it’s all meaningless! I want to be an assistant so I can see how they work, learn, understand, help. Just because a task is difficult doesn’t stop me from trying to do it. Know the institution, work with its possibilities and – if possible – improve what needs and can be improved.”

Grantaire looked at him long enough that Enjolras had the urge to tell him to look at the street again. His brows were pulled together, a pensive quality in his expression.

“People want to make the world better every day. It’s not that simple.”

“I never said it was!” Enjolras felt his anger well up. “But being negative about everything isn’t helping, either. I think everyone should do what they can to give the world and the people on it a chance for a better tomorrow.”

“Nobel. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

“Great. Thanks!”

They sat in a heavy silence after that. This little glimpse into Grantaire’s mind was enough for Enjolras to know that he was intelligent but a rather pessimistic person. And even if he just said all those things to play devil’s advocate, it had sounded too bitter to be just an act – which was unfortunate, because Enjolras had started to like him.

Enjolras looked out of the car window and saw that they were almost there. The enormous parking lot of _Carrefour_ stretched out at their right.

Grantaire chose a parking spot close to the entrance because it had started snowing in thick, wet flakes. Enjolras quickly got a trolley and they ran inside.

“Do you have a shopping list? We can split it to be faster.” Enjolras asked, hoping it didn’t sound too much like a peace offering after their little discussion – why should they need a peace offering at all, right? But, somehow, he hoped that the tense atmosphere of the last few minutes wouldn’t last.

Grantaire gave him his loop-sided grin that very much told him that Grantaire understood the question exactly as that.

“Sure.” He ripped the paper he had pulled out of his pocket in half and handed him the upper half. “If not stated otherwise, get the store brand or a cheap version. And don’t forget your pants.” With that he winked and disappeared in the direction of the cheese and dairy section.

Enjolras collected the groceries for Éponine and found the aisle with clothes. He got some t-shirts, too, and socks. He was considering buying another jumper, but his conscience was already on edge because _who the hell_ knew where those t-shirts had been made. So, no jumper.

Now his arms were dangerously loaded with dried pasta, cans of tomatoes, jam, underwear, and shirts. He stumbled upon Grantaire in the aisle with flour and other baking ingredients. He let his stuff fall into the trolly with a relieved huff and turned to Grantaire who was staring at the collection of marzipan on the shelf.

“My Gran told me to get some almond paste, marzipan. But didn’t tell me what kind or brand and I cannot remember which one she uses…”

“Is it for baking or decoration?” Enjolras crouched down next to Grantaire to be on eyelevel with the products.

“For baking. She makes walnut-marzipan-cookies.”

“Then take this one.“ Enjolras handed him a package of marzipan. “It’s not the very best quality but it has a good ratio of almonds to sugar.”

Grantaire stared at him. “I did not take you for the baking kind of guy.”

“Well, what kind of guy d’you reckon I am?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“The ‘I buy my sweets from the best patisserie in Paris’ kind of guy.” At least, Enjolras thought, Grantaire had the decency to look a bit embarrassed.

“Charming. No, I don’t do that – but I’m not good at baking either. My best friend, Courf, is a passionate hobby baker, though. I picked up a thing or two from him. I know he uses this stuff for baking.”

Grantaire threw three bars of the marzipan into his trolly and looked down at the shopping list. He declared that they had everything and then proposed that they take a quick look at the shelves with the fresh bread and pastry to get a little lunch treat for themselves and Gavroche.

“Best thing to do to win that kid over is to give him food.”

With a baguette, an additional goat cheese and a _pain au chocolat_ they went to check-out and Enjolras insisted on paying for their lunch food.

They ate the baguette and cheese in Grantaire’s car, carefully only talking about topics that had nothing to do with law or the state of the world. It turned out – with those precautionary measures taken - that they were quite good at it. Then they took off to pick up Gavroche.

Gavroche was a small boy of thirteen years with light brown hair who let himself collapse into the backseat with an overly dramatic sigh.

“Who are you?” was his not so polite question for Enjolras.

“Enjolras. I’m staying at _Le Rosier_.”

“Normally, I sit in the passenger seat.”

That made Grantaire chuckle and turn around in his seat. “Well, not today, you little prat. Put your seatbelt on and if you are nice to Enjolras, you’ll get food.”

“What kind of food?”

“ _Pain au chocolat_.”

“Okay.” Gavroche put his seatbelt on, stopped looking like his honour was somehow disrespected and held out his hand.

With a grin Enjolras dropped the paper bag with the bun onto his hand.

“Cheers, blondie.”

On the ride back, Grantaire asked Gavroche a bit about school and then told him that, if he liked, he could earn a few euros by helping him prepare for Christmas the day after tomorrow.

They pulled in in front of a small police station and Gavroche helped Grantaire carry the grocery bags inside, while Enjolras stayed in the car.

When they arrived at the hotel, it had started to snow again.

[ _Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow – Ella Fitzgerald_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/23odYnrpoTNoBUYQMtpB72?si=HOiufP-hQq6hW60RwQ997A)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ENA is the École nationale d'administation. If you want to become an important person in french politics you better go there. 
> 
> This chapter is a little short and I don't know why it plays in a car and a supermarket. Just roll with it.
> 
> Yesterday, I saw the first movie rec i got. While You Were Sleeping. A 90's classic, I've already seen it, but it was nice to re-visit it.
> 
> As always hit me with your favorite Christmas song!


	4. In my bones I feel the warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The croque-monsieur makes its appearance

[ _Hang Your Lights – Jamie Cullum_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4uyf9zEhVME5h7dtm1Tq9b?si=i-TQKU9HTZeonvAFaRw-TQ)

Enjolras was sitting on his bed with his phone to his ear. He reckoned that he needed to call Combeferre to explain in more detail why he wouldn’t be back today, either.

It rang a few times before Ferre picked up.

“Hey, Enjolras. You alright?” Enjolras could hear the worry in his best-friends voice.

“Hello. Yes, I am fine. The car isn’t, though. As I texted you, I had a flat tyre yesterday but the new one won’t arrive until tomorrow, so I have to stay another night.”

“Are you still in Strasbourg?” There was some noise in the background and Enjolras knew that Combeferre was closing books and pushing papers away to fully concentrate on the conversation.

“No. I was already as far as Nancy. My GPS wasn’t working properly and that’s why I was on some country road when it happened. I am… well, I am in Remy-le-Château.”

There was a silence and then:

“Oh Enjolras.” Combeferre’s voice was soft, full of sympathy. “How are you feeling about that?”

“It’s alright. I don’t recognize the buildings and stuff. It’s been too long. I am staying at a little hotel – Courf would love it. It’s run by an old lady and her grandson and I have a feeling most residents in this town are a bit eccentric.”

“Sounds better than some Motel at the A4. How was – wait a second – ”

Enjolras could hear Courf’s muffled voice in the distance and Ferre’s reply of yes he’s okay, no he’s not coming back today.

“Sorry, that was Courf. How was the interview?”

“It was good. Really good. We were on the same page on most topics. She said she’d be in touch. Apparently, I was the last one to interview. If I’m lucky, I’ll get an answer before Christmas.”

“Good. That sounds promising. I hope you’ll be able to come home tomorrow.”

They ended the call soon after, the mobile connection wasn’t that good after all. Enjolras read a book he had with him but when the clock showed eight pm his stomach told him that the bread and cheese from lunch were not enough to last till the next day.

He thought of ignoring it but then decided to go downstairs and either head out to the Bistro or maybe he could get one of the sandwiches he remembered Grantaire mentioning.

From the stairs he walked past the counter with the computer, the opposite direction of the room where he’s had breakfast. He found himself in a small living room – if you can call it like that in a hotel. But it really looked just like a living room in a normal house. Two sofas, a fireplace (with an actual fire going on), and a small table with books and magazines. It was decorated – as the rest of the house – with pine and fir branches. Tasteful seasonal decoration, not too much but enough to make it look festive.

Enjolras was looking at the pictures on the wall – to his surprise abstract pieces – when he heard someone enter the room. He turned and saw Grantaire leaning in the doorway.

“Hey, are you looking for something?”

“No… well, kind of. I was thinking about eating something, but I was still contemplating whether to go to Bossuet or not.”

“If you like, you can get a _croque-monsieur_. I was about to make myself something to eat.”

“Oh, sure. Yes. If it’s no trouble.”

He followed Grantaire through a door next to the stairs he hadn’t really noticed before and was let into a small corridor and into a kitchen that looked like a normal kitchen turned professional. Stainless steel meets old oven and a wooden kitchen table.

He watched Grantaire pull out butter, milk, ham (“Do you do meat?”), and cheese from the fridge, putting a pan on the stove. Faster than Enjolras ever could have done, he had made a bechamel sauce, toasted some bread and pushed the assembled croques under the broiler.

“Are you a trained chef?”

“Oh no, I just like to eat and you learn stuff like that when you run a hotel almost on your own,” Grantaire laughed and pushed a chair out from under the table and sat himself opposite Enjolras.

“Actually, as a kid I thought about becoming a chef. But I changed my mind when I heard what kind of hours you have to work.” Grantaire grinned and checked on the bread, pulling two perfect croques out of the oven. He put them on plates and handed one to Enjolras. “Careful, burning hot,” he said with a wink.

Enjolras tore his eye from the black-haired not-chef and looked at the sandwich. It looked amazing.

“What was your next idea career-wise when you decided against being a chef?”

“Artist.” Grantaire pushed a knife and fork across the table and started to cut into his sandwich.

“Really?” Enjolras carefully took a bite and had to stop himself for making a loud noise of admiration – that was a damn good _croque-monsieur_.

“Yep. I was actually – don’t know how – admitted into the _École des Beaux-Arts_. Left after two years. Now I run a little hotel. No regrets.” He smiled but Enjolras thought that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“What kind of art was – or is? – you favourite?” Enjolras felt like asking why he left was something too personal to ask just yet – though he was curious.

“Painting. But I liked sculpting, too. Oil and stone, almost conservative. The other students were such creative nut jobs, it was amazing.” This time, Grantaire’s smile was genuine. “A friend of mine actually moved here after finishing his degree. He has a workshop in a barn just outside the village.”

“When did you started working here?” Enjolras finished his croque, his stomach feeling warm and happy.

“Oh, I think five or six years ago. How about some mulled wine?” Without waiting for a reply, he stood and pulled a bottle from a cabinet and poured the content into another pan. It wasn’t red wine, but white and it smelled heavenly like cinnamon, orange, cloves, and other things Enjolras couldn’t put his finger on.

“I make it myself. Well, not the wine. It’s wine a friend of mine makes. But it’s my spice mix.”

Enjolras was sure that he had changed the topic so abruptly on purpose. But he had never been one to pry.

Grantaire filled the hot wine into two mugs and beckoned Enjolras to follow him. He let them to the living room and sat down on a sofa, Enjolras taking a seat on the one opposite. They clicked their mugs as a toast. Normally, Enjolras thought that mulled wine was far too sweet, but this tasted like there was almost no sugar in it. It was delicious.

“Listen, sorry for earlier in the car. I am in no position to criticise what you are doing with your life.” Grantaire looked at him with a small smile. “I actually admire people who have passion like that.”

“Don’t worry. I like it when people tell me their honest opinion. And I had those thoughts, too. Of course, I know that big institutions work slowly, but I rather try than not.” Enjolras smiled at Grantaire, shrugging his shoulders.

“Where are you working right now?”

“At a law firm that’s specialized in labour law, ever since finishing my degree. I thought it was time for a change.”

Grantaire hummed in responds and this time the silence was comfortable. Enjolras sipped at his drink and stared in the fire, lost in thought.

After some time, he pulled his thoughts back to the present and looked over at Grantaire who was now lying on the couch, his legs pulled up, staring at the ceiling. Enjolras could see his profile in the soft light of the fire.

The dark curls were pushed back, as if Grantaire had pulled his hand through them. His nose – slightly crooked - was casting a shadow and the lips were parted. There was stubble on his cheeks and chin like he hadn’t shaved in at least a week. Enjolras knew that his staring started to be bit creepy, but he couldn’t look away. Grantaire was balancing his mug on his chest, one hand loosely holding it, the other under his head.

Suddenly, like an electric shock, Enjolras realized how very attractive Grantaire really was.

And that thought opened doors in his mind for other things. Ideas, images, scenarios (he wondered if his hair was as soft as it looked, how that stubble would feel against his skin, how his voice would sound while whispering sweet nothings…)

‘ _Oh no._ ’

Apparently making good croques and contradicting him was what worked for him.

Great.

That hadn’t happened in quite a while.

He tore his eyes from the man and looked around the room, searching for some distraction.

“Are those your paintings?” His voice was a bit rough.

Grantaire twitched a little, obviously as lost in thoughts as Enjolras has been.

“Yeah,” he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Sometimes I still paint, but I rarely find the time.”

“I like them.” He gave Grantaire a soft smile that the other tentatively returned.

He stood up and stretched his back. “I think I’ll go to bed. Thank you, Grantaire, for the croque-monsieur and the wine. Both were delicious.”

“You are very welcome. Give me your mug, I’ll put it away.”

They stood facing each other but none moved. It was Enjolras who finally gave one last smile and slowly returned to his room.

[ _A Winter’s Tale - Queen_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/12HWTqP3GWqzyyKrpkhojF?si=WKDuWFo4SW6q8RczUo3UiA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative song for the end: What’s this? -Jack Skellington (Danny Elfman) 
> 
> If you never had a croque-monsieur you're missing out.


	5. Do you remember me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see if Enjolras will get home today (spoiler: no he won't)

[ _Grown-up Christmas List – Barbara Streisand_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1oyq1zsWpXzcSOgAL6OkAh?si=hRWUwrThRlGb4qlLv3PfuA)

This time, Enjolras woke at seven. He turned in the bed and looked out of the window where he could see snowflakes slowly falling from a grey sky.

The showered and dressed in jeans and one of the new t-shirts he had bought yesterday. Then he ventured down the stairs, hoping for one of the apple pastries. When he entered the breakfast-room nobody was there, but there was some food already on the table. Only the coffee was missing.

Seeing as he had been in the kitchen last night, he felt bold enough to walk back there to see if Grantaire was working on the coffee.

Instead he found a tiny old women in the kitchen, rolling out dough on the table.

“Oh, excuse me. Good morning. I was looking for coffee – and Grantaire.”

She looked up and smiled at him, he saw the green in her eyes that was just a bit brighter than Grantaire’s.

“Oh, you must be the young man with the car trouble. I am afraid my grandson isn’t here, he had to drive to the laundry lady. The coffee’s almost ready, I’ll bring it out in a second.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I can do that. You are the founder of this place, then? It’s a lovely place.” Enjolras had always had a soft spot for old women, those who had an aura of wisdom and kindness, and who’s faces were marked by long lives.

“Oh yes! I worked here for half a decade. It is a dream - I was always doing what I love most. Now, of course, I am old and the only thing I can still do is bake. I am very glad that my grandson is helping me.” She smiled even wider. “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself, how rude: I am Marie.”

“I’m Enjolras.” He stood next to the table and smiled down at the little woman.

Something in her expression shifted when she heard his name though. A surprisingly inquiring look appeared in her eyes. Enjolras could see how she searched his face.

Then her expression softened again.

“Oh, my boy. I never thought I would see you again.” She wiped her hands on her apron and pulled Enjolras with her to sit on the stools he and Grantaire had sat on not twelve hours ago.

“You remember _me_?” Enjolras felt like he was hit around the head with her rolling pin.

“Yes! You were a toddler, playing outside in the garden. I should have recognised you the second you walked in. Forgive me, I am not as quick I used to be. You look so much like your father!”

He could feel his face go cold while his entrails felt too hot. Now, everything he had dreaded since he had heard Feuilly say the name of the town became true. Memories rushed back, faint images coming to the front of this mind. Questions he never asked, feelings he never expressed.

He was looking at the table, gripping the edge of it. He looked up and found a pair of soft eyes looking at him. Marie stood up and hugged him. Hugged him like she was his Gran as well.

“They are dead,” he mumbled over her head – she was too short, the tip of her head barely reaching his armpit.

“Yes, honey, I know…how awful. But they’ve always been so brave. Always helping. Always selfless. Good people…”

She let go of him and sat back down but stretched out her hand and took his in her own. Soft, dry, warm.

“I didn’t recognize the town, or the hotel. I was too young, I think. I don’t know why we never came back here. I think they did, right? But I never…” he trailed of, lost in his thoughts.

“I am happy you are here. Jean seems to like you. It’s always good to have new people around.”

Enjolras hesitated a moment but then figured that Jean was probably Grantaire’s first name.

“I will be leaving today, tough. The tyre for my car will arrive and I should really get back to Paris.”

“Paris! I haven’t been there in such a long time. What do you do, Charles? Are you a doctor like your parents?”

Enjolras thought that this woman was probably the only person he would ever allow to call him by that name. She didn’t even ask, she just remembered it. He, himself, sometimes forgot.

“No. I’ve never had the talent to calm people in the way they did. I am a lawyer. I want to work at the court in Strasbourg.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Is it fun?” Her eyes twinkled with genuine interest.

“Sometimes,” Enjolras smiled. “I work together with my best friend, so there is always a friendly face at work. But my other best friend is a doctor, actually.”

“Good. Friends are important. This little town is filled with friends.” She beamed at him and nodded her head a little to emphasise it. “Is there someone special waiting for you in Paris? A lovely girl or a handsome boy?”

Enjolras blushed a bit and his admiration for this old lady only grew. “No, no one like that.”

“Oh, well. If it’s meant to be, someone will step into your life. I met all the important people in my life at the right time – I just never knew it was the right time! And some returned at the right moment, as well.” She winked and suddenly Enjolras could clearly imagine Marie as a young woman, mischief in her eyes and a grin on her face.

“Grantaire came back here, right? Was it the right time as well?” Maybe that was an insensitive question, he realised, when he saw a sad expression appear on the old woman’s face.

“Yes, I think it was the right time. For me, as well as for him. Especially for him. You see – and please, I am not telling this to gossip, I never would, but you have to understand my grandson – Jean is a sensitive boy, always has been. He left our town with eighteen for Paris. He phoned me, but I never really knew what he was up to. With 21 he was accepted at the art academy. I was so proud. He was too, I could tell. But he wasn’t really happy, I think. He met a girl. I really hoped it would work for him, but, I am afraid she wasn’t a very nice girl. He feels so deeply…” she trailed off, apparently lost in thought. Enjolras wasn’t sure he should have heard this information, felt like it was Grantaire’s right to decide if he should know about it. But Marie started to talk again.

“He left school. Around that time, I had a mild heart attack and Jean decided he would help me out. I don’t think he thought about staying for longer than a few months. But he did. I am really thankful for that. I never would have asked him to, he just did. He’s such a good person.”

The old woman smiled and looked up at Enjolras, her eyes shining. She squeezed his hand a little and returned to her cookie dough. Enjolras filled the coffee into the big thermos and brought it to the breakfast room but returned to the kitchen.

With a cup of coffee in hand he chatted with Marie. She told him how she started the hotel, what she’d done before. How she met a certain Julien (“Terribly handsome. And such a good dancer!”).

She was about to tell him how she made that apple pastry he ate the day before, when the kitchen door burst open and Grantaire stormed in.

“Hey Gran! I’m just quickly stopping by to eat something and then I have to find the guest with the car because it looks like Siberia out there. Greetings from Lydia, she told me to tell you that you still have her book and that Gustav is feeling better. Then I – ” He was talking at an incredible pace all the while pouring coffee in a mug and getting a croissant from a tray. When he finally turned to face his grandmother, he abruptly stopped.

Enjolras waved and grinned.

“Well, honey. You don’t have to find Charles, as you can see. That means you can actually breath and eat that croissant without running around.” Marie pointed to a stool and gave her grandson a stern look until he sat down.

Grantaire mouthed _Charles?_ at him with a grin on his face. Enjolras decided to ignore it and instead remembered something Grantaire had said a few seconds ago.

“What do you mean it looks like Siberia?” Enjolras walked to the window and looked out. In the hour he had been in the kitchen the snowfall had increased and he could see the thick blanket of snow that was forming.

“The weather report says that a storm is approaching, and it will only get worse around midday. Now it’s just snow but if the wind takes up it will be awful. You should go to Feuilly right now if you want to get to Paris today.” Grantaire was already standing again.

“Oh no! That sounds terrible.” Marie looked worried. “You shouldn’t drive today,” she appealed to Enjolras.

But Enjolras shook his head and started to walk towards the door, he stopped next to Grantaire’s grandmother.

“Thank you, Marie. For everything.” He kissed her on the cheek.

“Good bye, Charles. Visit us again, will you?” She waved and smiled. He nodded and followed Grantaire out of the kitchen.

At the stairs they parted. Grantaire would head to Feuilly’s to ask about the car and Enjolras would follow, after he had packed his bag.

Twenty minutes later, Enjolras felt like a snowman even though the walk to the garage hardly took him ten minutes. He could see Grantaire and Feuilly in the office. He knocked shortly and walked in. Feuilly greeted him with a nod and without hesitation started to talk business:

“Enjolras, your car is fixed. But I don’t feel comfortable at all letting you drive. The snowfall is heavy, the roads are not cleared, the weather’s supposed to get worse. I won’t stop you, but I strongly urge you to stay.”

Enjolras looked out of the window again, into the thick snowfall. He knew he should head home, knew he was needed at work.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned and saw Grantaire next to him.

“Hey, Feuilly is right. You should stay. It can’t be that terrible here that you would consider dying in a car crash or freezing to death in a ditch. Stay. I mean, you _do_ have enough boxershorts for another night.” He added the last with a wink.

Enjolras laughed and shook his head. “No, you are both right. I am not a good enough driver for this kind of weather.”

He had a talk with Feuilly about the tyre, paid his bill on the spot and thanked him again for everything he’d done.

Then he and Grantaire walked back to _Le Rosier_ and Enjolras brought his stuff back into the room that slowly started to feel like _his_ room.

[ _White_ _Christmas – Bing_ _Crosby_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4so0Wek9Ig1p6CRCHuINwW?si=q7GqvWF6QYWfMUx6AguOow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess I killed Enjolras parents. Sorry. It's a cheap plot device, I know. Just go with it.
> 
> All the love to Marie. The next chapter will feature a few Amis. So fear not, they are around!
> 
> Drop me you're song and movie recs in the comments!


	6. Victims of the weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few more people join the stable aka Le Rosier due to the snow.

[ _Coldest Night of the Year – Vashti Bunyan_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/5UPyOCvQyofJZanqIIfj02?si=2d0GC5H3QtiFGrC-omLrQw)

Around three pm it was almost dark outside. The storm was shaking the glass in the windows and outside almost no living soul was seen. At the hotel, one couple remained and other guests that were due to arrive that day had called to postpone their stay.

Enjolras was sitting in the living room with Marie and Grantaire, drinking tea and reading the newspaper. He was wearing a thick red jumper Marie had given him because she said his thin cashmere one wasn’t doing any good. He had accepted the offer and was now happily snuggling up in it on one side of the sofa.

Marie was knitting something, sitting on the other sofa. Grantaire sat on the other side of Enjolras’ looking at a catalogue of kitchen utensils.

Enjolras had his feet tugged under him but had to stretch them a little for blood circulation, his toes were now brushing against Grantaire’s thigh – and either he didn’t notice, or he pretended not to. Enjolras was slower to read an article on the new EU decisions concerning immigration law that usually.

He had never been so acutely aware of the fact that he had toes.

After fifteen minutes – and a futile attempt to finish reading the article on Enjolras side – Grantaire changed his position. He, too, put his feet on the couch. Now their legs were tangled, with Grantaire facing him.

“Is this okay? The floor is a bit cold.” Grantaire nudged him with his foot.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Enjolras smiled.

“Are you done with the culture section?” Grantaire threw his magazine on the table.

“Sure. I also have sports and the gossip part to offer.”

“Nah, maybe later.”

Enjolras handed him the pages and tried not to think too much about the lovely domestic quality of it all. 

‘ _When did I ever connect the words lovely and domestic_?’ Enjolras wondered.

When the clock showed 5 pm, Grantaire got up to make coffee. Enjolras feet felt very cold all of a sudden.

Grantaire had just returned with three mugs of coffee when the telephone rang and disappeared into the hall to take the call.

When he returned his expression was serious.

“That was Joly. Their heating gave up on them. They are coming to stay for the night. I’ll go outside to see if I can clear the driveway of snow.”

Maire nodded and got up. “I’ll prepare a room. Charles, dear, can you help me?”

He hurried to get up. They changed the sheets in the biggest room and then went down to brew more coffee, expecting their friends in need to warm up when they arrive.

After half an hour the front door opened and Grantaire walked in, together with three others.

With a lot of noise, they let go of rucksacks and peeled out of a lot of layers of coats, scarfs, hats, gloves, more jackets, and boots.

Enjolras saw that under all that gear appeared Bossuet, his bald head had been protected from the storm by a ridiculous orange had with tassels. Next to him stood a small, thin man with glasses. And the third was a woman with a mob of corkscrew curls she was about to put into a bun on her head, a scarf still tightly wrapped around her neck.

Enjolras helped them hanging the clothes on the hall-stand and then Marie ushered all into the living room where Grantaire introduced them.

“This is Enjolras, he is staying for the third night due to special circumstances with his car and the weather. This is Bossuet, you know him. Next to him are Musichetta and Joly.”

They all squeezed on the couches and warmed their hands on the hot mugs of coffee.

“Thank you, Grantaire, and you, Marie, for letting us stay. Our heating went down around lunch time and we thought we could manage. With blankets and cardigans and all we thought it would be warm enough. But the temperatures dropped very fast and when I saw that the water in a glass on the window still was actually starting to freeze, I just couldn’t stay. We would all have gotten pneumonia,” Joly told them.

Musichetta put her arm around him. “No need to worry now, love.”

Enjolras learned that Joly was the doctor of the village as well as those around and that Musichetta was his assistant. The three of them lived in a little house at the outskirts of the village – old but charming, as Musichetta said (“and fucking cold” Bossuet added).

After they checked the fridge, they decided that the best thing to do to feed eight people (the other couple included) would be pasta with a rich sugo. Bossuet and Joly offered to make it and at seven o’clock they had a lovely dinner in the breakfast room. They had pushed tables together to create a big one they could all fit on.

With music in the background, candles on the table, a storm raging outside, and simple but perfect pasta and red wine, it was one of the best meals Enjolras ever had. The other guests were a young couple from Bordeaux and they easily fitted in. The conversation was lively and though they were here due to trouble, it was comfortable and happy.

At nine, Marie went to bed and at ten, the couple retreated as well.

Grantaire, Joly, Bossuet, Musichetta, and Enjolras drank espresso, ate cookies, and continued talking. They were discussing the plans of JBM (as Grantaire collectively called them) to travel to Stockholm in spring, when Bossuet’s elbow slipped, and he almost hit his head on the table.

“Well, time for bed!” Musichetta didn’t listened to the weak and sleepy protest from Bossuet and ushered her boys up. She offered to come back to help clean but Grantaire wanted to hear none of that. He told them all to get a good nights sleep. Joly had his arm around Bossuet’s shoulder to guide him up the stairs and Musichetta walked slowly behind them (no doubt to catch them should that be necessary).

Enjolras and Grantaire piled the dishes and carried them to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to help me. You can go to bed as well if you like.” Grantaire opened the dishwasher and started to put everything in.

“No way, I like to lend a hand. And then we’ll be in bed sooner, too.”

He realised how all of that had sounded when he saw Grantaire’s grin and cocked eyebrow.

“Stop it! You know what I mean.” To hide his blush, Enjolras whacked him on the arm and disappeared into the breakfast room to get the glasses and the spaghetti bowl.

Everything was clean and back to normal in ten minutes. When Enjolras had washed his hands in the sink and turned around, Grantaire was looking at him.

“Fancy one last drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Grantaire pulled three bottles and two glasses from a cupboard and ice from the freezer. He mixed two drinks, cut two strips of peel from an orange and then he handed Enjolras his drink.

“Impressive.”

“I used to bartend when I was living in Paris.”

They went to the living room, and Enjolras was a tiny bit disappointed when Grantaire didn’t sit down next to him. But he just went on to light the logs in the fireplace and then – ‘g _ood_ ’ – sat down on the same sofa, legs up, just like they had sat in the afternoon.

Enjolras sipped on the drink – it was strong, bitter, and wonderful.

He smiled at Grantaire who was smiling back, a soft smile, one Enjolras wasn’t sure he had seen before.

“I don’t know if it isn’t inappropriate, but I am very happy about that snowstorm and you having to stay another night.” Grantaire said quietly. “But, I guess, you would rather be in Paris again.”

“Well, I do have things to do in Paris. But tonight was great. No better place to wait for a snowstorm to end.”

“Yeah?” Grantaire’s voice was soft, like his smile was in his voice, too.

“Yeah.” Enjolras felt his heart beat a bit faster. He was desperately searching for something else to say – ‘ _oh god, why am I so bad at this_?’ He was saved from trying to remember how to small-talk by Grantaire.

“Do you have plans for Christmas? Any traditions?” Grantaire rested the glass on the back of the couch and Enjolras was staring at the way his thumb rubbed along the rim until he forcefully tore his gaze away.

“Christmas Eve my friends, Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and I always have dinner together. Everybody makes something. Well, Courf is always responsible for dessert. After that, we watch a movie. We debate about it, but usually, we end up watching _When Harry met Sally._ On Christmas Day we walk around Paris, take in the Christmas decorations and, most years, we volunteer at a local soup kitchen.” He smiled, thinking about how this had become their tradition over the last six years.

“Sounds great. Why that movie? It’s not really a Christmas classic.” Enjolras was thankful that Grantaire hadn’t asked the obvious question.

“I don’t really know. It just started. I think it’s the unofficial movie for Ferre’s and Courf’s relationship. They did the whole ‘from friends to lovers’ thing. But in a healthier way than Harry and Sally.”

“Are you Carrie Fisher in this scenario?”

Enjolras laughed and kicked Grantaire’s leg lightly. “Not really. At some point they were like: Enjolras, you do realize that we have been sleeping with each other for a month now? I can’t say I did. I saw no difference in their behaviour. Thinking of it, they could have had all of it much earlier. But I guess they needed the time. They are perfect for each other.”

He smiled at the memory of that conversation. Combeferre had looked a bit sheepish and Courf had literally glowed with happiness.

His two dorks.

Enjolras stifled a yawn but he could feel the sleepiness settle over him. He finished his drink and tried to look awake.

“What about you? Is the hotel open during the holidays?”

Grantaire shook his head. “No. We close on the 24th and 25th. It’s not the best for business, but Gran and I prefer it that way. New Years is big for us, though. We have a special offer for the guests with a five-course dinner, a firework, and all. Fully booked for that.”

“Are you cooking?”

“Yeah, together with Bossuet. It’s always a lot of fun.” Grantaire grinned and – when Enjolras tried to hide another yawn – stood up. He held out a hand. “Come on. Time for bed.”

Enjolras took his hand and let himself be pulled up. They stood rather close for a moment, Grantaire’s hand lingering in his for a few seconds longer than necessary. Enjolras could see that the emerald green of Grantaire’s eyes changed in the flickering light of the fireplace to a darker shade of brownish green. Then Grantaire quickly turned and grabbed their glasses from the table.

Later in bed, Enjolras realized that he had spent the second evening with Grantaire and that it had left him with a warm feeling in his chest.

A feeling he didn’t really want to examine too closely.

[ _The Day That Love Began – Stevie Wonder_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/37imi1XFLgqKBklyPxIOlJ?si=MZwTVQNCRNyBl4Eqno0r9A)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evenings spend with friends, remember those? No, me neither. Good thing we can join these friends in a snowy made-up french village.
> 
> (Grantaire mixed them a Negroni. A very sexy drink if you ask me.) 
> 
> Nothing more to add today, I have to listen to the new Taylor Swift album on repeat.


	7. Knocked me right off my feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know what disturbs the peaceful atmosphere of freshly fallen snow, though?”

[ _You Make It Feel Like Christmas – Gwen Stefani_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/2OQ6a4CfUeYskpTTgyawyJ?si=c2H_9RwJSqmTrl3sLObMKQ)

Enjolras woke at nine am. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept that long. He had a slightly dull feeling in his head – a few glasses of red wine and a late-night drink was more than he usual had.

He stood up and looked out of the window. Outside it was white, white, white. He could see enormous snowdrifts on the street and in the garden. The sky had that special winter blue, and the clouds were dark and told of the storm they had belonged to.

He showered, dressed, and found the others in the breakfast room, enjoying croissants and coffee.

“Good Morning, Enjolras!” Musichetta smiled and beckoned him to sit at their table.

He grabbed a Croissant, an egg, and coffee and sat down.

“It looks like Antarctica outside. I think the snowdrift in the driveway is two meters high.” Bossuet was chewing his pastry and looked concerned. “Do you think we’ll be able to get back to ours?”

“Sure,” Grantaire had appeared next to their table, coffee in hand. “I think on the roads it’s not quite as bad. I can help you with my shovel and then I can take a look at your heating as well.”

They decided to start as soon as they finished breakfast. Enjolras wanted to go as well, see the snow and help with getting them back to their house safely.

Grantaire was already digging through the snow on the driveway of the hotel when they all emerged. The cold way biting but the sun, that appeared and disappeared between the clouds, gave it a nice feeling.

On the street it was easier to walk but it still took about thirty minutes to reach the house JBM lived in. Bossuet tripped once and fell face forward into a snowdrift – it made Grantaire and Enjolras laugh, Joly fuss, and Musichetta roll her eyes fondly.

At their house, they actually had to dig a way to the door because it looked like an avalanche from the roof happened on top of all the snow already in front of the house.

Inside, it was freezing cold. Grantaire went into a tiny little storage room, where the heating was installed. Then he went to the fuse box and discovered the problem.

“Your fuse has blown. I did see another one back there, tho. I can install a new one.”

And he did – with an audience of four who watched him in awe. When he was done, he switched on the heating and put away the tools he had used.

“It takes time to get warm again. But I think you can think of things to do in the meantime.” He wiggled his eyebrows and put his hat back on.

“Thank you, Grantaire. As always, you are an actual hero.”

“No problem, Joly. Any time. Stay warm. See you!” He waved and walked out again. Enjolras said good-bye to Joly and Bossuet, kissed Musichetta on the cheek, promised to visit if he came back again, and followed Grantaire.

Grantaire was standing on the street, looking at the snow-laden trees around them.

“Where did you learn to change a fuse?” Enjolras stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“As always: you learn things like that when you run a hotel. And in school I did electrical engineering as a class.” Grantaire pulled his gloves on and started to walk.

They walked side by side. Their breath formed little clouds and snow swirled up with every step. Everything was quiet – the quiet only snow can produce.

“It looks so beautiful with snow everywhere. Snow makes everything look peaceful, clean.” Enjolras pointed at a field on their right. An old barn looked like it came straight out of a Disney movie.

Grantaire hummed in agreement. But when they reached a small square – without snow you’d seen it was an intersection – he said: “You know what disturbs the peaceful atmosphere of freshly fallen snow, though?”

Enjolras, who was two steps ahead, turned around and wanted to say something like ‘slipping’ but before he could open his mouth, he was hit in the shoulder by a snowball.

“A SNOWBALL FIGHT!” Grantaire shouted and bend down to gather more snow.

Enjolras, who had made a rather embarrassing yelping sound, wagged a finger in Grantaire’s direction. “Don’t you DARE!”

But Grantaire was already throwing the next snowball. It was badly aimed and Enjolras dodged it.

He reached down, pressed a handful of snow together and hurled it at Grantaire, who dodged it as well.

“Grantaire, this is war!” and with that he jumped behind what was – under all the snow – a car, made three snowballs and peeked over the top. Grantaire was standing seven meters away, snowball ready.

Both threw at the same time and missed. Enjolras run out of his hiding to get a better field of vision. His next throw was a success. It hit Grantaire in the leg. He cried out in mock pain and jumped out of the way of the next one.

They continued like that for a while, starting to laugh and – with each hit – to shout profanities at each other.

Finally, Grantaire collected an armful of snow and ran directly at Enjolras who was hastily making a snowball but before he had finished, Grantaire ran straight into him, pushed him into a snowdrift and – “DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” – dumped all of the snow onto his face.

Enjolras screamed and tried to wipe the snow from his face. Grantaire was standing next to him, laughing like a maniac.

“That’s so unfair! You’re fighting dirty!” Enjolras tried to stand but couldn’t push himself up in the soft snow. Grantaire laughed even more but offered him a hand.

Enjolras took the hand and with a wicked grin, pulled. Grantaire fell face first half on Enjolras and half into the snowdrift. Enjolras took a handful of snow and rubbed it into Grantaire’s face. Through his laughter he tried to protest but Enjolras pushed him even deeper into the snow until Grantaire caught his hands.

“Stop please! Enjolras! I need air. STOP!” Grantaire laughed hysterically and Enjolras let himself fall back into the snow, laughing himself. His cheeks actually hurting from all the laughing. His trousers were starting to be drenched with melted snow and ice-cold water was dripping down his neck, but he didn’t care. Next to him, Grantaire still giggled. His face was flushed and his eyes bright. There was snow in the wet curls of black hair that poked out from under his hat. He raised one hand and let it fell against Enjolras chest, gently hitting him a few times.

“You can’t accuse me of playing dirty and then pull something like this.” He turned his head and was now directing his full-grown smile at Enjolras.

“Well, some situations call for drastic action.” He shrugged his shoulders and grinned at Grantaire.

Grantaire’s hand was still on his chest. The only time they’d been this close had been the night before. Enjolras swallowed and his grin faded.

“Why are you looking at me like this?” Grantaire eyed him suspiciously.

‘ _Because you are wonderful.’_

“Because you are ridiculous,” he said instead.

“Ah!” Grantaire wiggled his eyebrows. “But so are you, you know.”

“Maybe.” With that Enjolras started to roll to his right, onto his hands and knees and pushed himself up. Standing, he had a wonderful view of Grantaire lying in the snow. “I would offer to help you, but I am afraid my tactics will backfire at me.”

“Fair enough” said Grantaire with a shrug and scrambled to his feet. Standing he pulled a face and started to walk like a toddler with full diapers.

“I think I have snow in my pants.”

That made Enjolras laugh again, although he wasn’t better off.

“Better hurry back. Joly would be very cross with us if he knew.”

Their way back was accompanied by giggles and an occasional grunt when water drops had found their way through clothes or down their backs.

[ _Underneath the Tree – Kelly Clarkson_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/3nAp4IvdMPPWEH9uuXFFV5?si=wbu4tgFaTJCFrciYSUUmzw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just unashamed, pure, heart-warming happiness. We all need some of that, right?
> 
> Thank you to those who tell me how much they enjoy this story. It makes my day.


	8. I've got a crush la la la la la la

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chopping and kneading

[ _Underneath the Mistletoe – Sia_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/6HFKeEGEJGI0rIyg2r0iLo?si=200nnhQtS3i8tJy6LefleQ)

It was around midday when Enjolras had showered (again, to warm up) and changed into dry clothes. He was staring at his phone where he was reading the warnings of the weather report. No more snow was expected but the wind was about to increase and the danger of black ice was high. For the whole region of Grand Est it was strongly advised to refrain from unnecessary car drives.

It looked like he had to stay yet another night – a thought that resulted in mixed feelings.

‘ _Tomorrow is the 23 of December. I still have to wrap the presents for Ferre and Courf. I have to shop for the dinner. I have to work. I should be in Paris. Why am I so reluctant to go? I never wanted to return to Remy-le-Château. But now…_ ’

Doing what he was supposed to do, meeting (and exceeding) expectations, doing the right thing, being reliable, always being a step ahead – those were the things he was known for.

He was not known for waiting, for letting things happen to him instead of controlling them, for not knowing the next step.

But now…

The image of Grantaire – lying in the snow beside him, calling his name through breathless laughter, shining green eyes – appeared before his eyes again. Subconsciously, he knew why he was so reluctant to say good-bye to this town. But that was something else he was not known for: listening to his subconscious (or his feelings).

Enjolras went down to the kitchen. He needed to discuss what the weather report said with Grantaire. Maybe he needed someone to make this decision for him. That, too, was a new.

When he opened the kitchen door, the first thing he could see were the backs of Marie and her grandson, looking out of the window. A radio was playing and the moment he walked in the speaker announced the weather report.

“We start our report with a warning for the Grand Est. After the snowstorm yesterday, it is still dangerous to be outside. Trees are in danger of collapsing under the snow masses, smaller roads are still blocked by snow and it’s icy. Everyone is advised to stay inside and only use the car in an emergency. The temperatures will drop to minus 15 degrees Celsius tonight…”

The speaker continued but Enjolras didn’t listen because Marie had turned around and had spotted him.

“Ah, there you are. Did you hear that?” she asked him. Grantaire turned as well, his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

“Yes. I had already read the warning on my phone. Actually, I am not surprised seeing all the snow…” he trailed of watching Grantaire who was looking at him with a guarded look. But it only lasted a couple of seconds, because then he shrugged and grinned his loop-sided grin.

“Well, looks like you are still stranded in our humble stable.”

“Apparently. I should have asked Feuilly to put runners under my car. Is it okay if I stay another night?”

“Of course, dear.” Marie squeezed his arm when she passed him and then handed him a cup of coffee. “And if you like, you can help us. We want to start preparing the Christmas dinner. It always takes so much time to prepare the whole thing. Gavroche wanted to come. But I told him to stay home, what with the snow and all.”

“Yeah, sure.” Enjolras couldn’t help but smile.

Grantaire patted him on the shoulder and handed him an apron. “Well, I hope you know what you’re getting into. This is serious business. Doughs need to be prepared, dried fruit cut, cookies decorated, onions chopped, carrots peeled, and wine needs to be chosen. But –” here he grinned “– I am afraid, that’s my job.”

Enjolras ended up with his arms deep in an enormous bowl of dough – for Christmas they made their own baguettes. He was kneading but it still was more on his hands than in one smooth mass in the bowl. Grantaire laughed at him when he passed, carrying a bag of chestnuts.

“That’s a job Gavroche normally does. The let’s out suppressed anger or something. Beat it like it’s all the injustice in the world.”

Enjolras took him by his words and after fifteen minutes it had turned into a wonderful dough. It went into the fridge and Enjolras found himself next to Grantaire, chopping dried apricots, figs, dates, and walnuts.

“This is a lot of food for just the two of you. Didn’t you say that the hotel is closed on Christmas?” Enjolras carefully cut a fig and looked over at Grantaire.

“No, it’s closed. On Christmas Day it’s just us two, but we do the _Réveillon_ on Christmas Eve – with the whole town. Or, at least, all those who like to come. It’s a tradition.” Grantaire threw everything he had cut so far into a bowl.

“Oh, here at the hotel?” Enjolras stopped cutting to look at Grantaire.

“Yeah. Who likes to can stay the night, but we all live so close by that most stagger home in the end. Nothing really bad has happened yet.” He grinned like he remembered some of the things that had happened though. “Everyone brings something to eat as well. We really have a lot and everyone can take something home.”

“Sounds wonderful!” Enjolras wasn’t sure why he was surprised, after the few days here he could see that this town was a close knitted community and that Grantaire seemed to be the centre – or _Le_ _Rosier_ , anyway.

“It is! You should always care for the people who live around you,” said Marie, who had been in the storage room but now appeared at the other side of the table. She started to roll and fold a dough of puff pastry. “It is an old tradition in this town. It started when a few families lost their jobs due to the bad economic situation in the country. To celebrate the holidays without being able to enjoy them felt like one injustice too much and so a young couple decided to host a party on Christmas Eve. Everyone was invited – no matter wealth, position, relationship, or religion. It started, I remember, with only a few people but they continued to do it every year they lived here. We continued that tradition even after that couple moved away. They were young, but they taught us how important it was to care for your fellow men. They showed how little acts of compassion could light a spark of hope. They were remarkable people, full of love and joy. Because of them, our village is what it is today.”

Enjolras felt like he knew who she was talking about, knew she was telling this for him. Not just to explain but to _explain_. He could feel his chest become tight and his throat go dry. When Marie looked at him with incredibly sad eyes and started to reach for his hand, he felt tears rise in his eyes.

“Sorry, I…,” he turned abruptly, and left the kitchen. He stepped out of the door to the garden and was hit by freezing air. The wave of oxygen cleared his head.

Normally, he wasn’t on edge like this whenever his parents were mentioned. Granted, it didn’t happen that often because he was rarely seeing people who had known them. But here in Remy-le-Château, it was all multiplied by a thousand. It was like they were just around the corner.

Of course, it had to be them to start something like this. Their level of love for this world could never be reached. Enjolras pulled his hands though his hair, over his face, and took three deep breaths before returning inside.

“Sorry, I had to go to the bathroom.” He didn’t meet Marie’s eyes when he told this obvious lie, but thankfully she let it pass without inquiring.

After another hour of chopping and kneading, Marie send them away, saying that she could handle the rest. Grantaire went off to answer emails and doing some cleaning.

Enjolras went upstairs to phone Courfeyrac to tell him he would be back in Paris tomorrow.

He picked up right away.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Hello Courf. I’m fine.” Enjolras didn’t want to discuss the turmoil inside him over the phone. “Listen, I don’t know if you caught the weather report, but they say it is dangerous to drive. The whole Grand Est is advised to stay where they are…”

“Oh. I haven’t heard. Man, this develops into a real vacation for you.” Courfeyrac chuckled a little.

“Looks like it.” Enjolras sat down on his bed. “I will be back tomorrow, though.”

“Take your time. Only drive when it’s safe again. How is Remy-le-Château treating you?”

Enjolras sighed. “Well, it’s nice. As I said to Ferre, I don’t recognise it. But the people are very friendly and the whole town seems to have a close community. Maybe that’s something where villages have an advantage over bigger cities. Everyone knows you and helps. It’s nice.”

“Sounds like you had first-hand experiences.” Courf said.

“Because of the snow three friends of Grantaire had to spend the night at the hotel. He helped them fix their heating today.” Enjolras could almost feel Courf sitting up straighter.

“Ah, I see. And who is Grantaire?” He said it with that smooth voice he used when he wanted to _imply_ things. Enjolras rolled his eyes but smiled.

“He is the guy who runs the hotel.”

“Ah. Old guy?”

“No. About our age, I guess.”

“Ah. Good looking?”

“Courf!”

“What? That’s a perfectly normal question. Just want to be able to paint a picture of what your surroundings are like. You know in case you get murdered by handsome Grantaire and I have to make a statement for the police.”

“How is it possible that you are a lawyer?” Enjolras fell backwards on the bed and tried not to laugh at the offended noise Courf was making.

“Mean. But, jokes aside, any chance for a little pre-Christmas vacation hook-up?” The wiggling of eyebrows was something Enjolras just knew was happening.

Enjolras thoughts shortly went back to Grantaire lying on the couch, glass in hand. Grantaire laughing and jumping around during the snowball fight. Grantaire so close to him in the snowdrift that he saw the golden speckles in his green eyes.

“Helllllo? Enjolras?”

“Erm, no vacation love story, Courfeyrac. This isn’t a movie.” Enjolras hoped he sounded like his normal, slightly-annoyed self – well, just like he always sounded when Courf was starting a conversation like this.

(Courf said Enjolras was far too pretty to have no love life at all. Every now and then he started campaigns to change that – much to Enjolras annoyance.)

“Okay, I was just talking about sex, not love… Soooooo, anything else about this Grantaire – besides that he is handy with heating and, apparently, _friendly_?”

“Oh god, Courf!” Enjolras put his hand over his eyes and let out a huff of air. “He is intelligent, helps people, and went to Paris to study art. He has black hair, can cook a perfect _croque-monsieur_ and has – erm eyes. That’s all I can say about him.” Enjolras had been about to say _beautiful green eyes and an amazing smile_ but that was certainly nothing Courfeyrac should know.

“He has _erm eyes_?”

Of course Courf caught that.

“I had something in my throat”

“Sure.” Courfeyrac giggled. “So, he is a very interesting human being, who can cook and apparently has beautiful eyes – “

 _Damn it, Courf_.

“ – who is willing to keep you company. Maybe vacation love would be even better than just vacation sex.”

“Courf!”

“Okay okay.” He giggled but changed the topic. “Have you heard from Strasbourg, yet?”

“No.” Enjolras sat up again and started to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “She said she would be in touch, probably before Christmas.”

“Well. It’s still two days till Christmas. She will call you. She would be very stupid not to hire you as her assistant.”

“Thanks. I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m back in Paris.”

“Okay, love.”

“Say hello to Ferre.”

“Will do. Say hello to mysterious Grantaire.”

“BYE Courf!” And to the laughter of Courf, he hung up.

That phone call left Enjolras with a funny feeling. Courf had that somnambulistic instinct to say exactly those things Enjolras was thinking about but refused to admit to himself that he was thinking them.

_‘Handsome Grantaire. Well, no denying that. Damn you, Courfeyrac!’_

With a huff he let himself fall back onto the bed again, head turned so he could look out of the window.

It was silly. He met that guy three days ago. He knew nothing about him – except a few bits and pieces of information. Sure, he was intelligent. Their conversations, the fact that he had been admitted into ENSBA, that he ran this hotel all by himself (including the administrative work, Enjolras suspected) all confirm that. He was compassionate, selfless, and funny.

‘ _Oh god. Don’t think about it anymore, Enjolras. It cannot happen. It will not happen. Stop it now. Remember that girl in Paris? He probably isn’t into guys.’_

And with that rather lame excuse, he told himself that he should think about other stuff. To distract himself, he started to worry about his job application in Strasbourg instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really just a little filler - but also my way to sneak in some Courf.
> 
> Next on are Emotions with a capital E. A lot of them.
> 
> Also, lol, wasn't able to come up with a song for the end of the chapter. BUT Sia's christmas album is pure genius.


	9. You're not where you belong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night to share life stories

[ _Winter Song – Sara Bareilles & Ingrid Michaelson_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1KDkSCXJIR4CJaVUK9qP7O?si=LVD95yY2Rvuz2_kdgqrGDw)

After he spend another hour scrolling through newspaper pages on his phone and staring at the ceiling, he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Yes?”

Grantaire walked into his room, smiling when he saw him lying on the bed.

“Looks comfy. Are you hungry?” He let himself flop down onto the bed next to Enjolras. “It’s almost seven. Gran made a bouillabaisse.”

“Sounds good.” Enjolras turned his head to look at the man next to him. A far more comfortable repeating of the way they had been lying in the snowdrift earlier.

Grantaire turned his face as well. His lips were curled at the corners, an amused feature on his face. It changed to a more serious expression as he seemed to study Enjolras face.

Enjolras wasn’t able to look away but he wasn’t sure what to say either. He concentrated on a scar he could see on Grantaire’s cheekbone instead.

“You have freckles.” Grantaire whispered.

“Oh.” Enjolras hand involuntarily snapped to his face to touch the skin under his eyes. “Yes. Not very visible, though. Only if I get a lot of sun during summer… You have a scar.” His finger pointing to his cheek, only millimetres from touching him.

“From when my face met shards. Nasty bike accident, there are more on my arm.”

He could see Grantaire blink, his pupils enlarged. A curl had fallen over his forehead and Enjolras felt the strong urge to brush it away.

He swallowed.

Grantaire closed his eyes again and then, suddenly, forcefully pushed himself into a sitting position. He patted Enjolras on the arm and hopped off the bed.

“Come on, Gran is waiting.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and started to stroll out of the room.

‘ _Jesus Christ…_ ’ Enjolras rubbed his hand over his face and followed Grantaire.

The soup was excellent, but Enjolras started to suspect that every single dish in this house was delicious. Marie and Grantaire talked about the things they still had to do tomorrow and the day after for the Christmas party. They prepared a shopping list and started a heated debate about the right choice of wine. Enjolras rarely said anything – only when his opinion was asked – but was very content with just listening to them. As dessert they all had a cookie or two.   
(The ones too ugly to present to guests, as Grantaire phrased it.)

“Well, Charles, I know you have to get back to Paris. But it would be so much fun to have you here on Christmas Eve. It would be such a special thing. Memories old and new…” Marie squeezed his shoulder as she passed him on her way to the dishwasher. Quietly, as it was only meant for him, she added: “They would’ve love it.”

Enjolras returned to his room soon after. The light feeling in his chest the dinner had produced was gone and the buried feelings had started to bubble up again. He sat down in the armchair by the window and stared out into the dark night, lost in thoughts.

At half past nine, he felt restless. He had been sitting there thinking about his parents, about his choice of career, the call he was waiting for – all those dark thoughts that come if one is looking into a freezing, dark night with a heavy heart and no distraction.

Enjolras got up, put on his jacket, his hat, gloves, and scarf. He walked out of the hotel, relieved that he met no one on his way out.

The cold bit the few exposed centimetres of skin on his face and his muscles contracted with the sudden drop of temperature. He walked slowly, carefully down the street. Snow was still piling high on the street and pavement and in places it was frozen.

He walked in the opposite direction of the town centre, walking through small streets and down an ally that was heavily blocked with snow. He emerged behind the church.

‘ _Great. I walked in a circle_.’

Enjolras saw that behind the church lay a small graveyard. He entered through an old wrought iron gate. Someone had cleared some of the snow from the path and it wasn’t too difficult to walk along the lines of gravestones.

‘ _Maybe they should be here instead of the Cimetière Montparnasse. I never asked them…’_

He felt a bittersweet tug in his heart as he saw the few lanterns with lit candles, flickering through the thick blankets of snow on the graves. He had walked the length of the cemetery and slowly made his way back to the gate.

Enjolras had just left and was standing on the street, not quite sure which way to turn when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned and saw a figure approach.

Grantaire pushed the beanie, that he had pulled deep into his face, back. “Hey, isn’t it a little bit too cold for an evening walk?”

“I wasn’t tired, and I thought a bit of fresh air would be good. Why are you out?” He looked at the rucksack Grantaire was carrying over his shoulder.

“I was at Bahorel’s.”

“The police man?”

“Yup. But nothing business-like, no worries. We had a work-out session. I teach him fencing, he teaches me boxing.”

“Fencing? Fancy.”

Grantaire barked out a laugh. “Was that supposed to be a pun? Awful.”

Enjolras shrugged and tried to grin. It probably didn’t look very humorous because Grantaire looked at him inquiringly.

“Why are you really out here? At the – “ he made a gesture to his left “- cemetery?”

Enjolras shook his head lightly and started to walk towards the square in town centre. Suddenly, he felt Grantaire’s hand on his shoulder stopping him, pulling him around.

“Hey, are you okay?” Grantaire left his hand on his shoulder, a concerned expression in his eyes. “Enjolras?”

All he could do was shrug his shoulders, a lump in his throat. He turned his head to hide his eyes that had started to sting again.

‘ _God damn it!’_

He could feel Grantaire’s hand tighten on his shoulder and in the next moment, Grantaire had wrapped his arms around him. Holding him close with a firm grip. Enjolras buried his head in the fabric of Grantaire’s coat and scarf and held onto him like his life depended on it.

They stood like this for many minutes. Grantaire was running little circles on his back, barely noticeable through the coat but calming nonetheless.

“Sorry” Enjolras finally mumbled when he felt like he could talk again.

“Hush. It’s okay.” Grantaire tighten the hug a little and relaxed again, obviously giving Enjolras the opportunity to end it if he wanted.

He didn’t. Instead, he continued speaking into Grantaire’s shoulder.

“It was just a bit much, today. And the last days…”

At last, Grantaire ended the embrace, carefully leaning back to look Enjolras in the eyes. “Hey, let’s walk a bit and you can tell me what’s on your mind, if you like.”

Enjolras nodded and Grantaire started walking slowly towards the market square in front of the town hall.

“I don’t quite know how…” Enjolras took a deep breath, the cold air burning in his lungs. “The story your Gran told today? About that couple who started the Christmas party tradition?”

Grantaire hummed to indicate that he knew what Enjolras was talking about.

“They were my parents.”

“What?!” Enjolras knew Grantaire was looking at him but he kept staring at his shoes.

“My mother’s from this village, my dad lived nearby. They met in school. Lived here for a while but moved to Paris. They came back here every now and then, but, I think, I was five the last time I went with them. I never thought I would visit this town again.”

“What happened?” Grantaire asked carefully.

“They were doctors, working at a hospital in Paris. During their vacations they volunteered for _Médecins Sans Frontiers_. They were in Congo and Afghanistan. When I was born, they stopped. But as I got older, they wanted to start again, go out, help. And they did when I was around fifteen. When I was nineteen, they were on a mission in Somalia. MSF was one of the few organisations still helping the people. They were killed when their car hit a landmine…”

This time, he wasn't able to hold back the tears. They were oddly hot on his cold cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had told that story. Suddenly, he felt Grantaire’s hand around his own.

“Sorry. That’s horrible.” He said softly.

Enjolras wiped his face and smiled sadly at Grantaire.

“Well, they always knew what they were getting into. But they could just not _not_ help. That was nine years ago…”

They had reached the town centre and Grantaire guided them to a bus stop with a bench and they sat down, looking out onto the church and the town hall, all dimly illuminated by the twinkling lights from the fairy lights in the trees around the square.

“It must have been torture for you having to stay here…”

“Well, when Feuilly said that he would tow me into Remy-le-Château I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. I actually never made a _conscious_ decision to not return. I just never did, saw no reason for it. I didn’t know anyone, didn’t think that anyone would still remember my parents. And when I arrived, I didn’t recognise anything.” Enjolras shrugged. He had the strong urge to run his hands through his hair but Grantaire was still holding his right hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles and he didn’t want to let go.

“And then Gran started with her stories,” Grantaire said with regret in his voice.

“Yes, but don’t worry. It was nice – sort of. She recognised me the moment she heard my name. It felt good to speak to someone who knew them. But at the same time, it became very real, as if I wasn’t believing that it was the real Remy-le-Château before. Maybe I didn’t want to.…”

Grantaire nodded like he understood what Enjolras was saying even though he wasn’t that sure himself.

“You make it sound like it wasn’t that bad, after all. But, to be honest, you look emotionally tortured right now,” Grantaire said cautiously.

“No, you’re right, it’s no fun being confronted like this, but I don’t want to sound melodramatic. That’s very not me.” He added with a dry smile, that made Grantaire grin his loop-sided grin.

“Everyone deserves to be a little bit melodramatic from time to time,” replied Grantaire and gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.

“Hm…” Enjolras looked up into the pitch-black sky. He was wondering how to phrase the thoughts and feelings that were playing catch in his mind. Grantaire sat quietly next to him, giving him time to think. At last, Enjolras took a deep breath:

“I don’t think about my parents that often – not in a sad way, anyway. I think about them on their birthdays, on my birthday. Of course, I wished they’d been there on my graduation day. In my mind, I tell them when something important happens in my life. But it’s never a ‘I wish they were here to tell me what to do’ kind of thought. I was always pretty sure about that. They knew I wanted to study law and supported me in that. They died a few weeks after I got into _Assas_. But here…here I was forcefully reminded of the people they were _besides_ being my parents. They were good people, Grantaire. They helped selflessly. They believed that in the middle of a civil war, helping people - even only one person – could tip the scales. They tried to improve the life of everyone they met. The very _essence_ of helping the people. And here _I_ am. Talking about the people in general, wanting to work at an institution notoriously slow and abstract in so many things they are doing. And yet I want everyone to believe that I can change the way things work. I can count on my left hand the times I know that by doing my work I had an immediate positive effect on the life of a person! Maybe it’s all bullshit.”

He had started to talk faster and faster, and now he did pull his hand from Grantaire’s and rubbed it over his face.

“I…I never doubted what I was doing more than in these last days,” he whispered into his hands, but he was sure that Grantaire had heard him.

“That’s not melodramatic. That is probably a very valid reaction. You really shouldn’t worry too much. I know it’s a bit stupid for me to say that, because I remember what I said to you in the car. I am sorry about that. Turning a knife in a wound and all that.” Grantaire made an apologetic face. “Questioning what one is doing with their life is not the worst thing to do. You said that you always knew you wanted to do this. So maybe it is time to have a little melt down. I mean, most people have one of those in their second year of uni!”

“Hmpf.” Enjolras knew that Grantaire wanted to calm him, cheer him up, and that he was right in some respects, but that didn’t help. “Sure.”

“No, listen!” Grantaire turned his body towards him so he was fully facing him. “Everyone has to help in their _own_ way. You don’t have to copy what your parents did. And apparently, they knew that, too. I dare to say that they were as passionate and probably stubborn as I suspect you to be. They knew you would find your way. Look at it like this: I help my friends by buying groceries for them or change the fuse. Because that’s what I am able to help with. But they wouldn’t be in the position of needing my help if there were people in charge who would give a fuck about the common people in the countryside. That is something that can only change if the system changes. And as a lawyer you could be in that position. And changing the system simply takes more time than changing a fuse! Or on a bigger scale: working at the European Court of Justice could mean that the evil people realise that they _can_ be hold accountable for their wrong doings. And maybe that could mean that at some point in the future there _won’t_ be prime ministers oppressing their people, or wanna-be warlords, or people drowning while just seeking refuge. That kind of help just isn’t visible at once. So, you can reflect or question your choices but please don’t fundamentally doubt that what you are doing isn’t helping.”

Enjolras was staring at Grantaire with big eyes.

“And don’t look at me like that! Being here must have been like being hit with an enormous hammer of bad emotions. But don’t dwell on them, please! Stay on track and keep doing what you are doing. And then you can and _will_ change the lives of people, too,” Grantaire said earnestly.

“Do you really believe that?”

“Well, I believe in you. You seem to be capable of all of it.” The loop-sided grin was back on Grantaire’s face, but his eyes were soft.

“Thank you.” Enjolras said quietly, a smile on his lips.

“You’re welcome.”

They watched a cat crossing the street while a silence started to stretch.

“When was the last time you’ve been melodramatic?” Enjolras asked. He had intended for it to sound jokingly, to lighten the mood but Grantaire’s answer was _far_ too serious for that.

“When I proposed to someone, quit school, left Paris, and became a hotel manager.”

Enjolras stared at him, baffled that his question had actually been answered _and_ by that answer. The surprise must have shown on his face because Grantaire laughed.

“Yeah, it is as overly dramatic as it sounds. Now I can laugh about it, and appreciate the drama but, well, it wasn’t fun back then.”

“You don’t have to tell me just to draw even or something. I don’t expect that!” Enjolras hurried to reassure him.

“No. It feels like a night to share life stories, don’t you think?” Grantaire put his hands into the pockets of his coat and leant his head against the wall of the bus stop.

“When I was eighteen, I moved to Paris. I worked on my portfolio, I bartended. I lived from day to day. It was pretty great, to be honest. I met a girl. Zoe. She studied French literature and wanted to be a writer. After some time, I got into ENSBA. It was amazing. Maybe a little excessive here and there.” He winked at Enjolras, but his expression shifted in a second, becoming melancholic. “I did love her. But she wasn’t good for me. Well, I know that now but back then… anyway. In my second year at school I was all romantic – in the nineteenth century kind of way – and one night I felt like everything was perfect. I told her that I was certain she was the love of my life, that we were meant to be together and that we should get married and live like Bohemians at the _fin de siècle_. Being the inspiration for each other and all that shit…Probably unnecessary to mention that she thought differently. Later, I found out that she never thought we were anything special and I was just one of many. Well…I spiralled. Depression, abuse of more or less legal substances. I fail classes. I dropped out to prevent being asked to leave. I had no idea what to do, and I was too ashamed to go home. At first – but then Gran had a heart attack and I just couldn’t not help her. So I returned. It was what saved me, I think. I realised that after three months here I felt better than all year before and I decided to stay.” He smiled a rather sad smile and looked over to Enjolras. “What do you think? Melodramatic?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No. Well, maybe a bit. Bohemians, really? But I’m really sorry that happened to you.”

“Yeah, stupid romanticised ideas of suffering and the life of an artist having to be unhappy and all that bullshit.” Grantaire shrugged a little. “You know, I am actually happy to be here in Remy-le-Château. It’s not big. But I love the people and working at the hotel gives me freedom. I wouldn’t have made it as a painter anyway.”

“Don’t say that! I saw the pictures in the living room. They are great.” Enjolras hit Grantaire on the thigh. “Do you realise that we lived in Paris at the same time for years? We could have met.”

Grantaire chuckled. “Oh no! I think it’s better that we did not. We would probably have hated each other. I bet you were a very political active student?”

“Well, I did found a group that helped other students on matters of discrimination and injustice.”

“I knew it! France's model revolutionary student leader.” Grantaire laughed. “So, as I thought: I would have hated your guts! With nineteen I was still stupid, with twenty-one I was a pessimistic idiot and with twenty-three I was a human wreck who hated everything and everyone. _Especially_ idealistic revolutionary student leaders.”

“Sounds like we could have had interesting conversations, though.” Enjolras chuckled.

Grantaire laughed again and pulled his shoulders up. After a few minutes he spoke again but his voice had lost the playful tone: “Enjolras?”

“Hm?”

“Come on. My ass is freezing. Let’s go home.” Grantaire stood up and stretched his hand out. Enjolras took it without hesitation and like that they slowly walked back to _Le Rosier_. They didn’t talk, there was no need. It was the most comfortable silence they had yet shared. A silence that was still filled with the said and unsaid things that they had exchanged only minutes ago.

When they arrived at the hotel, Grantaire let them in through the back door that leads to the corridor in front of the kitchen. They stopped in front of a door opposite the kitchen and Enjolras realised that that was probably where Grantaire had his own room.

Now the silence grew heavier.

Once again, it was Grantaire who spoke first, in a gentle voice.

“Don’t feel like you are not doing enough. I am sure you will do great things.”

“I…” Enjolras started to say, but the sincerity in Grantaire’s eyes and voice completely threw him off. Grantaire looked down on his hands – they’d had to let go of each other when he had to get the key but Enjolras could still feel Grantaire’s fingers between his own.

Again a curl had fallen over his forehead and this time – maybe it was the late hour, maybe it was the things they had talked about, maybe it was the burning feeling in his chest – Enjolras couldn’t control the urge to push it back.

His fingers gently tucked the strand back under the hat. His hand dropped onto Grantaire’s shoulder. Grantaire’s head snapped up and his eyes looked impossibly big. Enjolras was sure that he had never seen eyes that were as expressive as Grantaire’s.

They stood so close Enjolras saw the golden flecks again, could have counted the lashes. His right hand still lay on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Thank you for listening to me. For being there. For helping me.” He whispered the words, they felt like secrets. “Grantaire, I…”

He wasn’t sure where to go with that sentence, only knew he didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to go upstairs, didn’t want to disturb this atmosphere.

Grantaire swallowed and without Enjolras actually seeing him move, he had placed his left hand on Enjolras waist. The touch sent a warm feeling through Enjolras’ whole body. It felt like it was the overture for more.

They stood like this for a few seconds. And then Enjolras moved his hand up again, stroking the little scar on Grantaire’s cheekbone with his thumb. Grantaire closed his eyes and breathed out through slightly parted lips, the warmth of his breath tingled on Enjolras skin. The grip on his waist became firmer.

Enjolras’ heart beat faster, he moved his hand from the cheek to Grantaire’s neck, pulling a little and when Grantaire actually moved in closer his heart skipped a beat.

They were so close that their nosed almost touched. Enjolras swallowed, his eyes wandering from Grantaire’s eyes to his lips and up again.

But then Grantaire squeezed his waist again, a frown appeared on his forehead and with a sigh he let his head fall forward –

It landed on Enjolras shoulder.

“Do you know how much I want to kiss you? But, Enjolras, this is _not_ a good idea.” The pain in Grantaire’s voice was heart-breaking.

The glowing balloon inside Enjolras chest deflated at a rapid speed. He kept his hand at the side of Grantaire’s neck, though.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, not trusting his voice.

“I am, too. I don’t want us to be some kind of one-night stand, but Paris is too far away for anything more than that…and I’m not sure I could bear knowing what I cannot have.”

Enjolras wrapped his arms around Grantaire and for the second time that evening they stood in a tight embrace.

At last, they let go off each other.

“Good night, Grantaire.”

“Good night, Enjolras.”

And with one last, sad smile Enjolras turned around and walked upstairs to his room.

[ _Winter - Birdy_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/2C2yAksJWa5lPLdZ1la2Qg?si=TaoMAeelTHmf4xP39HisJg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this made your heart ache just a little bit. I really enjoy making these two puppies sad just to cheer them up later on...
> 
> Okay, so now we know what happened to Enjolras' parents and now you might very well ask "But, wait! Why aren't they talking about R's parents?" Good question, my friend. I wasn't able to put it into the story without it sounding forced. But i have ideas. Remember the coat of the Légion étrangère Granatire is (ironically, of course) wearing? Well, that belonged to his grand-father who was a member of the LE (that certain light-footed Julien Marie had talked about). Marie and Julien's son is Grantaire's father who followed his father into a career at the military. His mother is, sadly, not a very strong minded woman and follows her husband. The father gets send to foreign countries a lot. And when Grantaire was old enough he told his father his opinions on Frances post-colonialist imperialism in particular and his disdain for the military in general. They aren't on good terms. They see eachother maybe once a year. Grantaire's not sorry about it.
> 
> Okay, major cookie points to those of you who can guess which bog standart, generic netflix christmas movie the inspiration for this fic in the first place was. I long strayed from there but, yeah, I borrowed the general idea from one of them. 
> 
> And lastly: If you enjoyed this advent calendar so far please drop me a comment with your favorite part yet or simply a kudo. I appreciate it immensely!


	10. Glad just to be sad thinking of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 23th of December

[ _River – Joni Mitchell_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/0DAmSYQW9kq9gQNDI002KP?si=CTsyala3R--AMFeisCco-Q)

Enjolras didn’t find sleep easily that night. One worry was replaced by another. One thought chased the other. Emotions drowning out every other feeling until everything had formed a tight, hard ball inside his chest, making it hard to breath steadily.

Of course, Grantaire had been right. They could have kissed, could have had sex, could have shared the night. But then? It was a four-hour drive to Paris. It was an insane idea to think that they could split their time between Paris and Remy-le-Château.

Grantaire seemed to believe that it would hurt less having this as something that belonged only to their imagination. That an almost wasn’t as cruel as knowing exactly what you could not have. But Enjolras had the feeling that a _maybe_ , an _almost_ , a _what if_ could be even worse because every time he closed his eyes his mind betrayed him and presented him with a perfect image of Grantaire’s face – impossible green eyes, curled lips. His heart’s longing to know how it would have been kissing that mouth, tasting him, feeling his skin under his fingertips.

No, Enjolras did _not_ sleep well that night.

When he came down for breakfast the next morning, he found Grantaire and Marie in the kitchen. Both smiled when he entered but Grantaire’s smile was sad, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Good morning, love. Are you sure you have to drive back to Paris today?” Marie handed him a cup of coffee and an apple pastry. She didn’t seem to notice the gloomy feeling hanging in the air – or maybe she blamed it on his impending departure.

“Yes, I have to. Sadly, I cannot stay here forever.”

“When are you leaving?” Grantaire asked him. “I’d like to walk you to the garage.”

“Well, I wanted to take a look at the weather report, but I think I will leave after breakfast.”

Grantaire nodded and disappeared from the kitchen. Enjolras sighed, rubbing his hand through his hair.

“He is sad you’re leaving,” Marie said softly. “Will you visit us again?”

Enjolras was sure she didn’t know how much her question stung, so he tried to smile cheerfully.

“I am sad, too. And of course I hope to visit you again!”

Right now, it felt like a lie.

Right now, he wanted to leave and never return.

Right now, it felt like all Remy-le-Château stood for was heartbreak.

He took his time, though, drinking coffee and listening to Marie who explained the recipe for the apple pastry because Enjolras wanted to tell Courfeyrac about it.

Then he slowly walked up the stairs again, into his room and threw his few belongings into his bag. Then he put on his coat, took his bag, and – after an embarrassing long time and with a heavy heart – left the room.

Downstairs, Grantaire was behind the counter. When Enjolras was standing in front of him, he closed whatever he was working on on the computer and nodded.

“Well, time for you to leave the stable, I guess.” He turned around to shout in the general direction of the kitchen “Enjolras is leaving, Gran!”

Marie appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. She pulled him into a tight hug and then, with an air of conspiracy, put her hand in the pocket of her apron, pulled out an envelope and slipped it into Enjolras hand.

“The recipe,” she said with a wink.

He kissed her on the cheeks, said good-bye and left _Le Rosier_.

Grantaire walked beside him, silent at first.

Enjolras looked over at Grantaire who was staring ahead, hands deep in the pockets of his coat. He felt like he needed to say something, explain himself. During the last days, it had been Grantaire who had broken the silence, had known what to say in the right moment. But he remained silent.

“I’ll always remember these days. They were weird and emotional draining but, in a way, kind of perfect.” Enjolras winced a little. “God, that sounded awfully stilted and cheesy, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, it did.” Grantaire was grinning his loop-sided grin Enjolras realised was part mocking, part hiding his real feelings.

“Listen, “Grantaire stopped at few meters from _Feuilly Voiture_. “I am glad we met. I liked our conversations, I like the way you talk about the things you love, I really enjoyed spending time with you. And though the manipulative voice in my head talks about all the things we could have had, I am glad we had time together at all.”

“And that’s not cheesy?” Enjolras couldn’t help but ask - it was easier than facing what this all really was about.

“Idiot.” Grantaire shook his head but smiled. “Yeah, now were even on the cheesy front.”

They looked at each other for a few seconds but were interrupted by Feuilly, who had seen them and shouted from afar.

“HEY! Finally ready to get back to Paris?” He approached them with a grin.

“Yes, at last. I hope you didn’t mind having my car around for one more day.” Enjolras walked back to garage with Feuilly. He turned and saw to his relief that Grantaire followed them. Feuilly had parked his car on the parking lot that morning, already expecting Enjolras to drive home that day.

Enjolras put his bag in the boot of the car, threw his wallet and phone on the passenger seat and thank Feuilly again. After they said their good-byes, Enjolras turned to Grantaire who was standing a bit to the side.

“Well” Enjolras wasn’t sure what to do next.

“Well, “Grantaire echoed him, shrugging in a helpless way. “It was wonderful meeting you.” The smile on his face was the soft one Enjolras had only seen a few times.

“Thank you, Grantaire, again. For everything.”

Words weren’t enough, so Enjolras pulled Grantaire into an embrace one last time. He could feel Grantaire’s fingers digging into his coat. He buried his head in Grantaire’s hair, smelling his shampoo. Memorising it –

‘ _STOP!_ ’

He pulled away, knowing his face wasn’t the cheerful façade he had shown to Marie or the neutral expression of the last minutes. Grantaire looked flushed, his eyes a bit brighter than usual.

Once again, they stared at each other, then Grantaire closed the distance and kissed him on the cheek.

“ _Joyeux Noël_ , Enjolras.”

Then he turned and walked away.

Enjolras got into the car, turned the ignition, and left Remy-le-Château.

[ _No Other Love – Jo Stafford_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/18n8bitwnO6KgTl7FINz1O?si=OW6RmrkRRMS9QPas3jYfZw)

He arrived at his flat in Paris at around three pm. He had left the car at the car park where he rented a parking space and took the metro. At his place, he changed into different clothes, and texted Combeferre that he was back in Paris.

He felt restless. During the whole drive he had tried not to think about Grantaire. It hadn’t worked, obviously. When he had reached Reims, he had pulled into a rest area seriously debating whether to turn around or not.

It had been a close call.

All the feelings, all the thoughts had bundled themselves into a tight knot in his stomach, making him angry, sad, nervous, sick.

He decided to take a walk.

He walked out of his building in the 13. Arrondissement, on the Boulevard Saint-Marcel he turned left. He didn’t care where he was going. Just moving felt good.

Paris was busy. It was the 23 of December after all. People on the streets and in the shops. Fresh cold air mixed with the over-heated one from the stores. Excited, nervous, loud chatter in the air. Enjolras dodged the shoppers and walked through the smaller streets. He realised where he was when he was already standing in front of the green gate.

He sighed and walked through the door next to it. Even though it was already dark he found the grave without difficulties.

“Well, guess where I have been these past days…” he murmured, looking at the stone. Suddenly, he laughed (a little bit hysterical).

‘ _This is ridiculous_.’

He made a mental note to return in the next days to bring flowers, left again, and walked in the general direction of the _Jardin du Luxembourg_.

When he pushed his hand into his coat pockets to search for his phone, he found the envelope Marie had given him. He decided that he could drop by Courf’s and give it to him.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre lived in the 5th. They had – _somehow_ – managed to get a beautiful little flat in the _Quartier du Val-de-Grâce_. When he was only a few streets away he pulled out his phone and called Courf.

“Hello! Back in town?”

“Yes. Arrived this afternoon and took a walk to stretch the legs. Are you home?”

“No, sorry. Ferre and I are out getting groceries. Which was a stupid idea! The people pretend like they will never _ever_ again get the opportunity to buy food. Why do you ask?” He could hear Ferre mutter something in the background, as well as other noises.

“I wanted to give you something. The old lady who runs the hotel wrote down a recipe for apple pastries for you after I told her how much you would love them. But I’ll just put it in your letter box then.”

“Sounds good. How lovely to think of me! Do you want to come around for dinner later?”

“Thanks, but no. I have to go shopping, as well. And, to be honest, I still have to decide what I’ll cook for us. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course. Have a nice evening!”

“You, too. Bye!” He hung up. He posted the recipe, and on his walk back to his flat he made a detour to a supermarket around the corner.

Back in his flat, he put the groceries into the fridge. Then he sat on his couch, staring into the darkness of the room.

Against his better judgement and against his will his thoughts wandering back to a certain shade of green.

[ _It had to be you – Frank Sinatra_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/0Ab4lEHfPY98aqtQrKQbUu?si=CqwCGqXIQHud4OyH31I39A)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok. welllllllll yes, i wish i could give you more happiness than this. But right now, we'll just have to be glad to be sad. That song, damn. Okay, incoherent babbling. But! i know these are technically not really christmas songs but you just cannot write a christmas fic without Joni (a truth universally acknowledged) and i wasn't sure how to fit No Other Love in so y'all get a bonus song in the middle.
> 
> I pinky promise it will be happy soon! I mean, this is meant to be a fluffy, happy, and wholesome story to make us all forget the grim world outside. Fear not! Courf and Ferre will save Christmas. 
> 
> (also i don't really love this chapter but I do love you, lovely reader. Thank you for your time. And may I recommend Carol as a film you should definitly watch this weekend. You are welcome.)
> 
> One last note: nobody i their right mind has a car in the centre of Paris. I imagine it like a shared thing between Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Combeferre.


	11. I'm gonna risk it all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Combeferre and Courfeyrac for the rescue!

[ _Wrapped in Red – Kelly Clarkson_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/2nMZx7QHerfo4Wv37xNUEC?si=S2ZjDq4cSUqW5YRN9SANNQ)

Enjolras woke up at six. He felt the strong urge to pull his duvet up and just hide from the world. But he had never done that, and he probably should not start now.

He walked into his kitchen and made coffee. His phone, which he had left next to the fridge the night before, blinked.

He saw that he had a few messages from Courf and opened them. The first one was to inform him on Ferre’s choice of main dish for today. The second one was to thank him for the recipe. The next ones were a bit more cryptical.

*Is that picture for me?*  
*Oh wow. NO. E did you know this was in there??!!*

*E??????*

*!!!!!*

Courf had even tried to call him. Enjolras glanced at the clock. It was hardly 6.30am. He decided to go for a run before calling his friend back. Courf wasn’t known for getting up early on a free day.

After a one-hour run along the Seine and in the park and then showering, shaving, and staring in the mirror for too long, he wandered back into the kitchen for coffee no.2.

He had another missed call. With a raised eyebrow but not really worried – if it had been that serious, Ferre would have tried to call him as well – he dialled Courfeyrac’s number.

“Finally!”

“Good morning to you too, Courf.” Enjolras sat down on a chair and took another sip of his coffee. “What’s the matter?”

“There was something else in the envelop! Not just the recipe. Do you know something about that?”

“No. Marie gave it to me last minute. I thought it was just about the apple pastry. What’s in there?”

“Well. A picture. I thought…no, can you come over?”

“Is that really necessary? I wanted to catch up on my emails.”

“Yes, I think it is. And, honestly, nobody checks emails today. It’s Christmas! Well, almost… Anyway, come over, Ferre is out getting us croissants!” And with that, Courfeyrac hung up.

‘ _A picture? Of what?_ ’

Enjolras was wondering if they took pictures during the days he’s been there but he couldn’t remember seeing a camera or a phone. For a second, he thought that maybe Grantaire had put a picture he had painted into the envelope. But why should he?

He finished his coffee, put on some clothes, and cursed Courfeyrac when he stepped out onto the street into the freezing air.

Courfeyrac practically tore the door open when Enjolras rang the bell.

“Hello stranger!” He hugged him in his Courf-way – very tight and very good – and ushered him inside.

“Good to see you again! I almost forgot how your pretty face looks like. Now, sit down. Ferre is making coffee.”

Combeferre came into view and gave him a hug as well.

“Hey E! Good to see you.”

“What is all this excitement about?” Enjolras threw his coat onto the coat-hook next to the door and slipped out of his shoes. He sat down on his usual chair in the kitchen.

“Well,” Courf sat opposite him and pulled the envelope out from under his plate. His expression was more serious that Enjolras had expected. “At first, I thought it was just the recipe in here – amazing, by the way, that she wrote it down for me – but when I tried to put it back I saw that there was something else in here. First, I was confused but then I saw that there was something written on the back. Look!”

He pushed a picture across the table.

An old, small photograph. It showed two people standing in front of a house, arm in arm. They laughed and looked perfectly happy. It had snowed and the decoration made it obvious that it was Christmas.

Enjolras knew who they were, knew where it had been taken.

His hands were shaking a little when he turned it around.

In now faded pencil someone had written two names and a date on it: _Maxim Enjolras & Manon Thuly, Christmas 1980._

He turned it back around, staring at his parents.

“There was a post-it on it.” Courf said and handed him a little yellow sticky note.

In a very similar handwriting, it said: _I hope, one day, you’ll spend Christmas with us, too._

“Ah fuck…” Enjolras buried his face in his hands, the ball of emotions inside his stomach coming alive again.

He could feel Combeferre sitting down beside him and then his hand on his shoulder. He let his hands fall back down onto the tabletop and looked at his two best friends.

Courf gently took his hands into his own.

“Enjolras, what happened in Remy-le-Château?”

And he told them. Told them everything that happened. Told them about Marie, about that Christmas Party his parents started, about his doubts and break-down in the middle of town square.

For a second, he hesitated, wondered if he should leave out the part about Grantaire – but he knew he had to be honest, wanted, _needed_ to be honest. Needed their opinion, needed their assurance that he – they – did the right thing.

After he had finished, his two best friends were looking at him with sad expressions in their eyes.

“Oh E, that are a lot of feelings for a few days,” Courf whispered.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Enjolras tried to smile.

Combeferre shook his head a little. “I was afraid something like that would happen. But I didn’t expect you to meet someone who knew them. I just imagined you under some kind of diffuse emotional stress. But…”

Here he hesitated and looked to Courfeyrac, who seemed to understand what he was thinking, because he nodded a little.

“But apparently you’re feeling a very different kind of emotional stress as well.”

Enjolras could help but laugh – that was such a Combeferre way to phrase it.

“Yes, well… oh I don’t really know what to say.” He shrugged helplessly.

“Enjolras, you are more upset about Grantaire than about your parents, aren’t you?” Courf voice was surprisingly soft – maybe Enjolras had expected him to be as annoying as usual when his love life was concerned. But that would mean seriously misjudging Courf’s character. No, Enjolras knew that he would never make fun of him in a situation like this. “I think we’ve never seen you like this before.”

Enjolras was about to say something when he felt his phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans.

He pulled it out, saw the number and quickly excused himself.

“Hello?”

“Monsieur Enjolras? This is Catrine Myriel. I am very, _very_ happy to tell you that we – my team and I – decided to offer you the job as my assistant.”

“ _What_?” Enjolras asked stunned. Then he pulled himself together. “Thank you, Madame Myriel. That’s fantastic!”

“Okay, sounds like you want to take the offer.” He could hear the laugh in her voice. “But, you know, that is a big step. I know that you have to move to Strasbourg and even though I have no doubt about your qualification and enthusiasm for the job, I want you to think about it once more. I will be very happy to have you in my team. And I strongly hope you won’t decide otherwise – but please consider my offer, talk with your friends, your partner, your family. And then call me when Christmas is over and if you accept, we will talk about the details again.”

Enjolras wanted to shout that NO! he would not reconsider and YES! he wants this, but instead he answered:

“Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I will call you on the 27th. Thank you, again. Really, it’s a dream come true.”

“Wonderful. Well, Monsieur Enjolras, I wish you a merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Madam Myriel.”

“Good-bye.”

Enjolras stood in the hallway, needing a few seconds to process what had just happened, then he walked back into the kitchen. Courf and Ferre were talking to each other in hushed voices but stopped when he appeared.

“That was Judge Myriel. I got the job…” Enjolras looked at his friends, who stared back and when Courf’s face split in two with his big, happy grin, he could feel a smile spread on his own face.

He was scooped into a double hug by Ferre and Courf, who laughed and told him they knew all along.

“OH NO! I forgot to put champagne into the fridge! I feel like this is a champagne moment!” Courf said with consternation.

“You think getting another plant for the living room is a champagne moment,” Combeferre pointed out with a grin, making Enjolras laugh.

“Well, she needed to be baptized!” Courfeyrac shouted in mock outrage.

They sat down around the kitchen table again and Enjolras eyes landed on the picture still lying next to his plate. His parents smiling up to him. The topic of their conversation from not five minutes ago came back to him.

His parents in Remy-le-Château.

His parents doing what they loved, what they thought needed to be done.

His parents, always together.

 _Talk to your friends, to your partner, your family_ Myriel had said to him.

Well, he had talked to Ferre and Courf about this, extensively. They were his friends, his family. But Enjolras realised that, now, there was another person he wanted to talk to about this. From whom he wanted to know the opinion.

But that was impossible.

 _Right_?

Or wasn't it?

 _‘I can go back. I can tell him… And then? Nothing has changed. There would still be hundreds of kilometres between us. No, stupid idea, Enjolras. Just let it pass. But I want to tell him that I can change the world, now, like he said. But he doesn’t want this. I cannot force him. He deserves peace…’_ Enjolras mind was racing, again. Debating with itself. And it must have shown on his face, because suddenly Courf was kneeling in front of him.

“Enjolras, what’s going on in you pretty head?” he asked gently.

“I am thinking about how he said no.” Enjolras was fiddling with the photo on the table, talking quietly, not sure if Courf could follow.

“You want to go back to Remy-le-Château, don’t you? To Grantaire?” Once again, Courfeyrac knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Yes. I want to tell him about Strasbourg. I don’t want to leave things like this. But it’s _not_ a good idea. I told you, he doesn’t want it like this.”

“Enjolras, do you think you could love him?” That was a question he expected from Courfeyrac but it came from Combeferre. Enjolras was still staring at him when he continued: “Well, it’s Christmas. Maybe this could be your Christmas miracle.” Ferre shrugged and Enjolras had to laugh, despite all.

“That’s the most _ridiculously_ romantic, and honest to god, _stupidest_ thing you have ever said!” Enjolras shook his head.

“He’s right, though. I know how your head works. You will never get over this if you don’t try again. Maybe it will work, or he will tell you no again. But then you’ll know for sure.” Courf rubbed his legs in an assuring way.

Enjolras was staring at his friends whose judgement he trusted above all. But right now, he wasn’t sure if they weren’t the personifications of the little, hopeful voices inside his head. They could not honestly propose to go back to Remy-le-Château. Suddenly, he had a very clear image in his mind of them as little devils on his shoulders.

“You guys can’t be serious?!” He asked disbelievingly. “Courf, I told you, this is not a movie. He will probably tell me to fuck off! I don’t want to be cruel!”

“But you shouldn’t be cruel to yourself, either.”

Enjolras looked exasperatedly from one friend to the other. He saw Courfeyrac’s hopeful eyes and the smile tugging at Ferre’s lips.

“What the hell?! I really cannot just barge in on Grantaire on Christmas. I cannot force him. He told me no. I should respect that!” Enjolras almost shouted it. The expressions on their faces changed.

“You know that we would never push you to do something to hurt someone you care about – or anyone, really. But, Enjolras, five minutes ago you sat at this table, almost crying – something we have not seen happening for a long time. You talked about him like he turned your world upside down. And yes, me saying it could be a Christmas miracle was, maybe, a little bit stupid. But as Courf said, you won’t feel good about this until you have not tried again. And now, you have our support. We won’t let you deal with it alone.” Combeferre put his hands on Enjolras shoulders, a gesture that had always had the power to calm and centre him.

Enjolras knew it was wrong, that it would result in disaster but all he could see were Grantaire’s green eyes, the loop-sided smile, could feel his head on his shoulder, remembered the tone his voice had when he told him he had wanted to kiss him. He could feel Grantaire’s lips on his cheek.

_‘Fuck it!’_

“Okay…okay! But I’ll go now, otherwise I will lose my courage. I am sorry to miss Christmas with you guys.” He stood up and was met with two pairs of raised eyebrows.

“Nope.” Courf crossed his arms.

“We won’t let you go alone, stupid. We will come with you.” Combeferre said with the air of authority.

“What? No! You don’t have to.” Enjolras shook his head.

“But we will nonetheless,” Courf said. “It’s Christmas. We always spend it together, let’s not stop that now.” Courf was smiling at him, and Enjolras was flooded with deep gratitude for these two people.

“Thank you,” he smiled. “You two are idiots, by the way. If this goes south, I’ll blame you!”

“Sounds fair.” Ferre nodded. “Here’s the plan: You go back to you place, pack a bag. We will meet at the car in about an hour. Okay?”

“Okay.” Enjolras nodded, too, feeling excitement, fear, and nervousness rise inside him. In equal parts.

One hour and twenty minutes later they were on the way to the _autoroute._

Combeferre was driving because he didn’t trust Enjolras in his current state of ecstasy. Courf was in the backseat, talking about nothing in particular. Enjolras wasn’t feeling like talking about what would, what could happen in a few hours. Courf knew that and tried to take Enjolras mind off of it.

It was half past two when they left the N4 and the closer they came to Remy-le-Château the quieter Enjolras became – and the more nervous.

When he buried his face in his hands, he felt the reassuring hand of Courf on his shoulder, gently rubbing it.

“It will be fine.”

When they arrived at the border of the town, Enjolras made Ferre stop.

“Ok. Here we are. How should I do this?” He looked pleadingly at his two best friends, hoping they would tell him what to do.

“I would say: just go in there, see if you find him, tell him what you’re feeling,” Courf said cheerfully.

“Thanks, great, amazing. I hoped you would be more specific!” Enjolras hit his head against the headrest.

“We cannot help you more than giving you moral support, Enjolras. We don’t know what will happen. But, as Courf said, just say the honest thing. Tell him how torn you are about the situation,” Ferre replied gently.

Enjolras simply nodded and Ferre started the car again.

They pulled in in front of _Le Rosier_ not two minutes later.

Enjolras seriously debated telling Ferre to drive back or refuse getting out of the car. But instead he took a deep breath, opened the car door and walked towards the house.

He opened the door and walked it – the hall was empty. He looked into the living room which was deserted as well. Then he heard faint music coming from the kitchen. Of course, they were cooking.

His feet felt like lead, his entrails like burning coals and his head was oddly light, like it wasn’t attached to his body anymore. He swallowed and walked down the hallway to the kitchen.

He took a deep breath, his heart beating too fast, and opened the door.

[ _Light of the World – Lauren Daigle_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1LrFfxFSUBLtezl1T19ajo?si=CLn6xs3eSRqO6zLUOQMdGw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did i just include a cliff hanger in this fic that is basically nothing but slow burn? Yes. oops. 
> 
> The very opposite energy of the songs are basically what Enjolras is feeling here.  
> (And that Lauren Daigle song is just so damn beautiful!)
> 
> I have to work the next days until (and on) Christmas - retail. no fun at all. Drop me recommendations for nice, wholesome Christmas movie to get me through the pain, please.
> 
> Let's talk schedule: I will post on the 23th, 24th (that's when we celebrate christmas where i live), and the epilogue on 25th.


	12. You are all I need tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas Eve Party Pt.1

[ _Underneath the Christmas Lights - Sia_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1KuPjp2SyimuFq2Hh62Tym?si=JllhEeNZTm-ImHGvR99K0g)

Nobody was in the kitchen.

An old record player was playing Bach’s Christmas Oratorio. On the table lay three chickens, a pie, lots of chopped vegetables, and other stuff.

Enjolras walked inside, standing close to the window, wondering what to do, panicking a little.

Suddenly, there was noise. A door closed and he heard Grantaire’s voice, shouting something unintelligible. Then the kitchen door was thrown open and Grantaire walked in, back first, carrying a bag of onions.

Enjolras felt like his head was forcefully reunited with his body, some kind of force gluing him on the spot.

Grantaire turned around and –

“SHIT!”

He jumped a step back, dropping the onions.

“Fuck.” His hand was pressed against his heart. “What the HELL are you doing here?” His voice seemed to be undecided on whether to shout or whisper. His face was white and there was an expression on it Enjolras wasn’t able to read.

“I came back.” It was the first thing that came to Enjolras’ mind.

“I see that,” Grantaire furrowed his brow. “ _Why_ , exactly?”

Enjolras swallowed again, his throat like sandpaper.

“I…I thought it rude to not spend Christmas here. Marie wrote me a note, and I thought, well, why not?” Immediately, he felt the urgent need to kick himself. What _the fuck_ was he saying?

If possible, Grantaire expression turned even more stony.

“Ah.” He turned on the spot and left the kitchen.

_‘Shit shit shit shit’_

Enjolras followed him quickly, caught him in the hall and was about to start to apologise when he saw Courfeyrac and Combeferre standing at the counter in front of Grantaire.

They must have realised, by the looks on Grantaire’s and Enjolras’ faces, that Enjolras had royally fucked up.

“Hello. We are Enjolras’ friends. I am Combeferre and this is Courfeyrac,” said Combeferre, polite even in the face of disaster.

Grantaire raised his eyebrows, turned again, and strode past Enjolras, down the corridor, out of the back door into the garden.

“Wow, he _really_ has beautiful eyes,” Courfeyrac said into the silence.

Enjolras shot him an angry look that turned desperate in a second.

“I did not say what I wanted to say, I told him I came back because Marie asked me to. Oh god…” He collapsed against the counter, pulling at his hair.

“Hey, just go after him. Explain again. Tell him you panicked. But go NOW otherwise, with the speed he had, he will be in Germany by now.”

Courfeyrac gave him a push.

Enjolras nodded, tried to look confident – failed miserably – and went after Grantaire. He found him in the garden, where the other man was standing next to the big pine tree, staring in the other direction.

“Hey, sorry…” Enjolras came to a halt a few steps from Grantaire, not sure what to do.

Grantaire didn’t turn around but shrugged his shoulders.

“Gran will be happy that you’re here.” The coldness in his voice cut through Enjolras like a knife.

“That was a stupid thing to say. I panicked, I’m sorry! I came back because – “ Enjolras wasn't sure if it wouldn’t be a lot harder with Grantaire looking at him, but he needed to see the reactions in his face. “Can you turn around, please?”

Grantaire sighed and turned, looking at him with a guarded look and a hard expression in the corners of his mouth.

“I came back because I wanted to talk to you. Because…because I felt like I was eaten alive. Yesterday, I almost turned around midway. I didn’t and then I hated myself for it the rest of the way.” Enjolras was stumbling over the words, trying to do this right, trying to make Grantaire understand.

Something flickered in Grantaire’s eyes, a crease appearing between his eyebrows.

“Marie gave me an envelope with a recipe for Courf, I dropped it off and this morning he called me and told me to come over. She’d put a picture of my parents in the envelope. A picture of them here, at Christmas. They looked so happy. They loved each other so much. And they were together almost all their lives. They shared their lives and the tasks they had set themselves.” Enjolras could see confusion appear on Grantaire’s face. He knew he had to explain himself better. He needed to make him _understand_.

“I have Courf and Ferre, they are my family. I share everything with them but it’s not the same. Maybe…maybe it’s not enough. I was told to talk with my family and my partner about what I am going to do. And, you see, I wanted to talk to you. I want to hear what you think about it. I want to share this with a person who knows what my goals and fears are. Who will help me, because fuck it, I need help! I never thought so before coming here, but I need help to see things from another perspective sometimes. I need someone to hold my hand and tell me that doubting isn’t bad. Who tells me to be melodramatic from time to time.”

Grantaire was staring at him. Enjolras rubbed his hands through his hair instead of letting them do what they really wanted – grab Grantaire’s hands.

“This is such a shit thing to do. Too much to put on you. You told me you don’t want something that could very well end badly. I don’t want to be the reason for you to suffer – and still I tell you all of this and shit – ” he laughed shakily “ – we know each other for five days now! But, to sum this up, I am here because I just cannot _not_ be.”

He took a deep breath and waited. Waited for Grantaire to say something, anything.

Grantaire was watching him with a careful closed-off look. He crossed his arms in front of his chest swaying his torso a little. Enjolras really wanted to reach out, to touch him, to know how he was feeling. Instead, he stood there, waiting.

“I literally don’t know what to say.” Grantaire finally broke the silence. “I am not sure I could follow you on all that. What exactly do you want to share? That you enjoyed me telling you that you are a normally functioning human being for having feelings? And what do you expect me to do? That I’ll always do that? I am not your fucking therapist!” Grantaire’s voice became more cutting with every word he said.

“NO, of course not!” Enjolras was shocked that Grantaire misunderstood what he had wanted to say, that he had made him angry. “I think I started this wrong… _again_. I got the job in Strasbourg. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”

Enjolras took a step towards Grantaire. “I wanted to tell _you_.” He repeated, quietly.

“Congratulations.” Grantaire was looking at the snow between their feet now. He seemed to come to a conclusion, though, because he shook his head lightly, took a deep breath and looked up again.

“Listen, I know about wanting to make a gesture, a big, grand gesture. I told you, I made stupid mistakes before and it almost ruined me.” He laughed short, and bitter and looked at the sky. “As I said, the last days were amazing. I liked having you around. When I saw you in your suit, I thought you’d be an asshole but you turned out to be an interesting person. Beautiful, sharp, fascinating. Damn it, Enjolras!” He looked him full in the face now. “I don’t know what to do. I _really_ don’t! And I am not sure you know, either. I…I think I need more time to think about this.”

He walked pass him but stopped right next to him and added: “You are very welcome to stay for Christmas, of course. And your friends. Everyone will be happy.”

Then he disappeared around the house, leaving Enjolras alone in the garden.

‘ _Everyone…?’_

Enjolras was stunned. Stunned that Grantaire chose to handle the situation like this and that he had said the last things with honest warmth but incredibly sad eyes.

He stood there, staring into the air, not seeing anything, thinking about what Grantaire had said.

“Hey.” A quiet voice was coming from behind him. He turned and saw Combeferre standing a few steps away. “How did it go?”

Enjolras shrugged. “He said he doesn’t know how to handle the situation and he needs time to think about it.”

“Oh”

“Yeah, not much of a Christmas miracle, I guess.” Enjolras tried to sound sarcastic but he missed by miles.

“Oh E…” Ferre put an arm around his shoulder and together they slowly walked back to the house.

“We can stay for Christmas, though.”

“Good, I lost Courf to a little lady who dragged him off, both chatting about butter or something. I think it would be impossible to get him to leave,” Ferre said and – as intended – it made Enjolras smile.

“That’s Marie. I’ll introduce you.”

Enjolras and Combeferre walked back to the kitchen where they were greeted by an enthusiastic Courfeyrac and a happy Marie, who gave Enjolras a long hug.

Marie and Courf were already discussing the finer details of short crust pastry so Ferre and Enjolras let them be. Enjolras showed his friend the house and then they took a little tour through the village.

[ _Wonderful Christmastime – Paul McCartney_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1SV1fxF65n9NhRHp3KlBuu?si=McdEYutAQ36FMpPM02-RNQ)

When they returned, it was already getting dark, the first guest of the Christmas party had already arrived. When Enjolras walked into the living room, he was greeted by Bossuet’s enthusiastic waving. Musichetta gave him a kiss and Ferre and Joly seemed like they had waited their whole lives to become friends. Bossuet excused himself after a few minutes, as he had to help Grantaire in the kitchen. At first, Enjolras wanted to follow him but then thought better of it – Grantaire probably needed space.

“So, what brought you back to our little corner of the world?” Musichetta flopped down next to him on the sofa.

“Oh, Marie kind of persuaded me. And I wanted to show my friends the place,” he smiled at Joly and Ferre who were deep in a discussion about some obscure bacteria.

“Hm, Marie can be quite the force of nature.” Musichetta smiled at him. “…it had nothing to do with our rugged looking, big-hearted, chef-in-disguise artist turned inn-owner, then?”

Enjolras gave her a quick look that was met with a cocked eyebrow and a sly grin.

“Well…maybe.” And with that Enjolras buried his head in one of the cushions of the sofa.

“Oh honey!” Chetta patted his arm sympathetically. “Our favourite bellboy can be a little dumb sometimes. It will work out.”

Enjolras mumbled something into the depth of the sofa and gave a dismissive gesture.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

“I said,” Enjolras sat up with a groan, “that I am the dumb one and he has all the right in the world to be pissed at me for me being, well, me. Ah fuck.”

“Are you always swearing?” A voice came from the door and when Enjolras turned his face he could see canary-coat man standing in the door.

“I am not, honestly, you always catch me at a bad time,” Enjolras mumbled over Musichetta laugher. He stood up and introduced himself to the guy who turned out to be Jehan, owner of the flower shop and artist. After an introduction to Ferre, a hug by Chetta and Joly, he disappeared to the kitchen.

(“I have three bottles of self-made eggnog that need to go into the fridge asap.”)

Courf, on the other hand, reappeared and told them he had been thrown out of the kitchen because, and here he quoted Bossuet, the magic was about to happen and he wasn’t allowed to steal their secrets.

More guests arrived. They were introduced to Cosette, who was the mayor of the little village and taught French and mathematics at the elementary school in the bigger town. Her husband, Marius, was the lawyer of the area and Enjolras would have started a heated debate with him on the topic of trade law wasn’t it for the big doe-eyes and frightened look Marius gave him after his first cutting remark. Enjolras reckoned that he should probably not scare away people he very much intended to become friends with (or, in this case, their wife).

Slowly, the room became crowded and with even more people arriving they started to move into the other down-stairs rooms as well. The hall became the bar area and in the breakfast-room the tables were all put together into a big rectangle so that during dinner everyone could see everybody.

Enjolras was talking to Feuilly– he was sporting a dark green velvet blazer and a pink tie with little cars on it, amazing really – when he was hit in the side by a little fist.

“Hello blondie, you are still here I see.” Gavroche was grinning up to him, a water glass in hand that suspiciously looked like it contained champagne.

“Yes, Marie invited me. Good to see you again.”

Gavroche stared at him for a few seconds, cocked an eyebrow, then turned and left. Enjolras felt like he failed some kind of test – that Feuilly was almost crying from laughing wasn’t helping.

“What’s so funny, sweetheart?” A woman appeared next to them. She had dark curls, blood-red lips, and was wearing a dress with a leather jacket. She eyed Enjolras with a piercing look and smirked. “Ah, you must be the car-guy.”

“And you must be Éponine.” Enjolras reached out his hand, and they had a two second staring duel. In the end, her smirk grew into a wide grin.

“Lovely to have you here! Well, R didn’t over-exaggerate, that doesn’t happen that often. But, may I ask, haven’t you left yesterday?”

Enjolras wondered what Grantaire had told her but was distracted when yet another person joined their conversation.

“Aw, Ponine, don’t be noisy. No interrogations today, it’s Christmas!” Grantaire slung an arm around her waist and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“I was just making friendly conversation. Next step would be making fun of Feuilly for his tie.”

All turned to look at the item of clothing in question.

“Excuse me! It’s called fashion. Jehan complimented me on it,” he said with an amazing amount of dignity.

“Well, babe, Jehan is wearing a kilt today. I am not sure he qualifies,” Éponine said. “Anyway, R, where is the champagne?”

“Just follow Gavroche, I think he found it already,” Enjolras said, which made Grantaire laugh, Éponine sigh and Enjolras heart jump. He smiled at Grantaire who’s cheeks turned a little pink.

“Ok. I am out if this turns into lovingly gazing into each others eyes. Feuilly, let’s find the booze.”

“Yep, I’m all in” And with that, Éponine linked her arm with Feuilly and they waltzed off.

Enjolras could feel his cheeks heat up as well but before he could say something, Grantaire had hastily turned around and joined another conversation.

Enjolras sighed and with the diffuse intention to get a drink – at some point in the afternoon, Grantaire had changed into suit trousers and a very, very nice fitting white dress-shirt that did funny things to Enjolras heart – he walked away and found himself in the kitchen. It smelled divine and was empty except for Jehan, who was heating up mulled wine.

“Hey” Jehan sat on the working counter, stirring the wine occasionally. “How are you holding up?”

“Hello, I – what?” Enjolras asked, stunned.

“Well, Grantaire looks like shit behind the happy face he is pulling, and you have a sad expression around your eyes. I thought you are probably going through the same trouble – but from different ends, I guess.”

Enjolras was gaping at the blond artist, wondering if Grantaire had told him something or if he was one of those rare people who could read the emotional state of someone like an open book.

“I’m ok, I think.” Enjolras came to the conclusion that being honest was probably for the best – and Jehan seemed to be a good person who would not make fun of him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jehan handed him a small cup of the mulled wine and poured himself one, too.

“I asked Grantaire to, well, take a chance on me. And very reasonably he told me he had to think about it seeing as we don’t live in the same city and all.”

Jehan took a sip and remained silent for a while. “I think he is fighting a battle of head and heart at the moment. Give him time – but when he comes to a conclusion – “ here he hesitated for a second “ – accept his answer, please?”

“I will. Promise. I don’t want to hurt him,” Enjolras said with a nod.

“Okay.” Jehan was looking at him with a broad smile. “R told me you want to be an assistant at the court in Strasbourg?”

“Yes,” Enjolras smiled a little. “I actually got the job. Got the call this morning.”

Jehan made a whooping sound and gave him a hug that surprised Enjolras enough to almost spill the mulled wine all over himself.

“Wow. That’s so cool!” He laughed and Enjolras could swear he saw a cunning sparkle in his eyes. “Now you only live two hours away. You know, that’s far better for various reasons.”

Then he hopped of the counter with a swoosh of his kilt, took the pot with the mulled wine and disappeared. Enjolras was left with the nagging feeling that everyone in this town knew about what was happening – or not happening – between him and Grantaire.

Well, no surprise, actually.

But what Jehan – no doubt intentionally – had said about Strasbourg being only two hours away, was stuck in his head. Two hours is still a very long distance. Not for everyday – four hours of commute no thank you. But, at weekends…

He was wondering if he should mention it to Grantaire. No, that would probably contradict his needing of space and time to think.

He stood there in the kitchen, wondering how his life – almost always steady, full of drive and purpose and knowing what to do – had, in the course of a few days, turned into an utter chaos like this.

He was disturbed when the man in question, his grandmother, Bossuet and Bahorel walked into the kitchen.

They started to arrange the many different dished on plates, in bowls, and trays. Then everything was carried into the breakfast-room where it was arranged on a big table at one wall of the room, creating the most sumptuous buffet Enjolras had ever seen. Chickens, an enormous roast (courtesy of Cosette), vegetable, potatoes (mashed, roasted, fries), sauces, pies, quiches, breads, baguettes, dips and spreads. Wine, juice, and water bottles on the big table and Jehan’s mulled wine on the side of the buffet. No doubt: nobody would go home hungry. Enjolras even spotted the pâté Combeferre had made and, apparently, brought with them.

Everyone found a seat at the table – Enjolras sat next to Combeferre to his right and Cosette to his left – and when everyone had a drink, Marie stood up.

“My dear friends, welcome! Another year and again we gather for a wonderful Christmas dinner. I am so happy you are all here! Thank you for everything you contributed to the table. We are doing this for more than thirty years now and I am so glad we hold this tradition close to our hearts. It changed over the years, but it only became better! Spending Christmas Eve with the people you love – “ she rested her hand on Grantaire’s shoulder who grabbed it and smiled up to her” – is important and special and I am so happy that you all want to spend it with us. As I am an old woman, you will forgive me for reminiscing the past, I hope.” She grinned a little crooked, once again showing the young woman she once had been. A few people laughed and Grantaire rolled his eyes in good humour. “When we started this little feast, we were ten people, maybe a bit more. A wonderful young couple from our town started it as a way to help those who couldn’t afford a big Christmas dinner. They embodied what Christmas is about: helping each other and spreading love and joy. This year, I am more than ever reminded of them because their son is here today. Enjolras, thank you for celebrating Christmas with us and introducing us to your two lovely friends. We hope it will become part of this wonderful tradition.”

Enjolras could feel a little blush spreading across his cheekbones when she mentioned his parents and everyone looked at him (and Grantaire’s eyes shortly met his). He was thankful for Combeferre’s hand on his own, giving him a reassuring squeeze. And yes, Enjolras _did_ notice how she said we and saw the way the thumb of her hand still on Grantaire’s shoulder lightly flicked his ear.

She beamed at everyone in the room and continued:  
“Well, I will stop now otherwise the food will be cold. I wish you all a very merry Christmas!” She raised her glass, and everyone toasted, and the room was filled with shouts of Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Enjolras waited a little for the first hungry people to storm the buffet (Gavroche being the first). Cosette used the time to tell him that she knew about his parents because her father, who had been mayor of the town as well, had told her about the Enjolras’. And how she, even just from the stories, knew they must have been special people and that she was happy he was with them today. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and disappeared, leaving him dazzled and lost for words.

This town must be filled with the most big-hearted people in the whole world, he was certain.

When he decided to get himself a plate of food as well, he made the detour around the table and gave Marie a quick hug and murmured a thank you.

After returning, he found Cosette in his chair, talking animatedly with Combeferre, so he took her chair and saw that, now, he sat directly opposite Grantaire.

Trying not to look at him too long, he started to eat the delicious food. Next to him sat Bahorel with whom he soon began an interesting conversation about law school – turned out Bahorel had been a lawyer but decided to switch professions to be more directly involved (”Being a lawyer is fucking awful! No offence.”).

Every now and then – involuntarily – Enjolras eyes wandered back to Grantaire. He saw him laugh with his friends, eat the dinner, smile at his grandmother and making jokes with everyone who passed him.

Enjolras longed to be one of them.

The feast went on for hours, after the main dishes the empty plates were replaced with sweets: cakes, puddings, cookies, and an enormous _bûche de noël_.

The people scattered, getting drinks at the bar, sitting in the living room, switching seats. Enjolras had talked with almost everyone, except the person he really wanted to talk to.

With a slice of the _bûche de noël_ on a plate, he sat a few steps up the stairs, watching Courfeyrac and Bahorel laughing about something, when Combeferre let himself flop down next to him. He was carrying two glassed of champagne and handed one to Enjolras.

“Merry Christmas, E.” He bumped their shoulders together and offered him a smile.

“Merry Christmas, Ferre.” Enjolras smiled back at him. “What’s your opinion on the people of Remy-le-Château?”

Combeferre took a little time to answer, watching as Bossuet and Joly staggered down the hall towards the bathroom. Joly holding Bossuet’s hand in the air, trying not to get blood dripped on himself. Both of them laughing hysterically. When Bossuet saw Enjolras staring, he gleefully shouted: “Christmas ornament!”

“I think the people of this town are the best I have ever met.” Combeferre chuckled a little, a good indicator that this was _not_ his first glass of champagne.

“Yeah, that’s what I think, too.” Enjolras set down both plate and glass and folded his hands in front of him. When he turned, he saw that Combeferre was watching him closely. “What?”

“I had a conversation with Grantaire. He seems to be a really nice person.”

“Nice?”

“Why is it that one can’t use that word without everyone assuming you mean the direct opposite?!” Ferre shook his head in mock desperation. “I think he is a good person: witty, funny, caring. And I think you two would be great together.”

“Wow, Ferre, make it even harder for me, would you.” Enjolras playfully slapped his leg.

“Sorry! I am sure that it will work, tho.” He gripped Enjolras hand before he could hit him again. “Trust me on this. Tonight, love is in the air,” he added with a stern look, using Enjolras’ own hand against him instead to emphasize every single one of his words with a gentle blow against Enjolras knee.

(Nope, definitely not the first glass of champagne)

Enjolras was about to say something when the object of the conversation walked past them. He was laughing about something Éponine had said who was directly behind him. Enjolras eyes followed him until he disappeared out of sight. Combeferre slung an arm around his shoulders. Enjolras leaned against him.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course, but we have to catch up on Harry and Sally when we get home.”

That made Enjolras laugh and he promised that it would not be forgotten.

“Speaking of Harry…”

Courfeyrac appeared at the bottom of the stairs and after a quick kiss on Enjolras forehead he dragged Combeferre off babbling about having to settle something between him and Bahorel. Enjolras laughed even harder at the helpless expression of Ferre’s face.

Again alone on the stairs, he started to wonder if he could sneak out for a moment of quiet when Éponine appeared – this time without Grantaire. She sat herself down next to Enjolras and waited a few second before she said:

“Drinking champagne alone on the stairs is a very pathetic thing to do on Christmas Eve.” She raised an eyebrow and offered her glass, some amber liquid in it, as a toast. “I’m here to help.”

“With the drinking alone part or something different?” Enjolras asked after sipping at his drink.

She snorted. “Both.”

“Ah.”

For the first time, he saw her with a serious expression, no sign of sarcasm or hidden meaning.

“I’ve known Grantaire since school. He loves his friends unambiguously, but romantic love is different. In that aspect, he doesn’t let himself love easily. He loved once and I had been there to see the way his heart had been shattered. Ever since, he’s been guarded. I think he has a problem with tearing down the wall he has build. But, let me tell you, you are all he has been talking about in the last couple of days.” She smiled at him and Enjolras was too stunned to do more than stare back. Something Marie had said about Grantaire came back to him: _he feels so deeply_.

He was pulled back to the conversation when Éponine continued: “Well, I am rather sick of hearing about your golden hair and the way you look like a Greek god. So, do me a favour and get that sorted. I am done with that whining blob sitting on my couch.” She was back to a sly grin.

“It had been so nice until you said that,” Enjolras remarked, grinning too.

“Yeah, well, emotions make me uncomfortable.” She downed the last of her drink and disappeared, but not before patting his head. He groaned and let his head fall onto his arms that were folded on his knees. 

He sat like that for a few minutes until:

“Hey, are you okay?” Grantaire’s voice pulled him back.

“Sure.” Enjolras tried to smile. It came out rather loop-sided.

Grantaire looked like he wanted to say something else, he had already opened his mouth but was interrupted by a screeching Jehan who was chased by Feuilly. Jehan tried to hide behind him but Feuilly just pushed both through the door to the breakfast-room, swearing and shouting something along the lines of “Give me back my tie NOW you fucking little artist LUNATIC”.

Momentarily alone again in the hallway, Enjolras made a quick escape into the living room.

A few people were lounging on the chairs and the sofas, Enjolras spotted Marie on a stool next to the fire. She saw him and gesticulated for him to come join her. He sat himself on a chair next to her and she took his hand in her own once more.

“I just wanted to tell you again how happy I am that you are here. Although I have a feeling that it isn’t just for the sake of spending Christmas with _me_.” She winked at him. “I am glad nonetheless.”

Enjolras felt himself blush a little and smiled self-consciously. That made Marie laugh.

“Ah, love, as I said, you look a lot like your father. He used to blush like that, too. Now, would you mind putting more champagne and beer into the fridge? I am afraid we are running low on cold drinks.”

Grateful that he could help and do something, Enjolras jumped up and walked to the kitchen. A lot of bottles were stored in a corner of the kitchen, just waiting to go into the fridge. But when Enjolras entered the kitchen, he wasn’t the only one there.

Grantaire stood in front of the fridge, already putting bottles into it.

“Oh! Sorry, Marie asked me if I could put drinks in the fridge, but, well, I see you are taking care of that.”

Grantaire stared at him of a second and then grinned his trade-mark loop-sided grin.

“Ah, that old scheming woman! She told me the same.”

“I see.” Enjolras let out a desperate sounding huff of laugh – that old lady who looked so tiny and harmless and yet she had apparently joined in the match-making game going on.

He helplessly shrugged and watched Grantaire who still had a faint grin on his lips. In the progress of the evening Grantaire had opened another one of the buttons of his shirt and Enjolras couldn’t help but let his eyes linger on the exposed skin. He cleared his throat, averted his eyes, wasn’t sure what to do with his hands and settled for stuffing them in the pockets of his trousers.

Grantaire was just standing there, looking at him with an expression Enjolras couldn't decipher. At last, Grantaire pulled his right hand through his hair, pushing the curls out of his face. He took a deep breath.

“I think we should talk.”

[ _Winter Song – The Head and the Heart_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/01NSrsQkOZ3PgRcGLGrOT5?si=rdA9rbeNReWJWi5-3GoDBw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! You didn't think i would just give you what you want without letting you suffer a little more, did you?  
> Yet another cliff hanger. I only ralised i did this ~delaying~ thing when i posted the chapters. Sorry.
> 
> For someone who said they wanted to write a happy, fuffy fic because the world is all grim right now this sure contains an interesting amount of angst and sadness. Again: sorry.
> 
> But fear not, the whole of Remy-le-Chateau is here to help our little lovebirds. 
> 
> Friends, listen to Sia's Christmas album, it's great. I love it, but i guess you can tell. Also, good food and booze are things i really like, but i guess you can tell that as well. Little snipped from the real world: some customer wasn't pleased with the way my collegue tried all she could to help her (if something isn't there you just CAN NOT sell it. that should not be a hard concept to grasp) and then after my collegue said goodbye and wished her a happy christmas the women goes "Well, I sure DON'T wish you happy Christmas" (what the actual fuck?!) Friends, in the undying words of Harry Styles, let's treat people with kindness. I hope you all only meet nice people these coming days. 
> 
> Now, lets keep our fingers crossed and hope E and R get their shit together!


	13. We gon’ have the best Christmas that ever existed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas Eve Party Pt. 2

[ _Everyday is Christmas - Sia_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/30DnQCN64v8xBpGZpLgb6l?si=ibkZbYwDS8eV5TduJJZxEA)

“I think we should talk.”

Enjolras felt like something was falling inside his stomach. Most of the times, those words were followed by bad things: break-ups, critic, and rejections.

He could feel the blood draining out of his face and only nodded.

Grantaire hesitated a second but then walked out of the kitchen and let Enjolras into the room they had stood in front of only two nights ago. It was, in fact, Grantaire’s room.

Grantaire stood in the middle of the room, watching Enjolras who took in his surroundings. A bed stood in one corner, a desk in front of the window and one wall was covered in a bookshelf. An empty easel stood between the bed and shelf, opposite it a wardrobe.

Enjolras closed the door behind him and waited for Grantaire to make the first move. The longer Grantaire was just looking at him the more he felt like he would probably explode in any second. It was nerve _-_ wracking.

‘ _Please say something!’_

“I have tried. I have really tried to not do this,” Grantaire finally broke the silence and the words made Enjolras heart stop. “I wanted to be rational about it. You know, I felt like I needed to think about what you said and not just feel, not just let my heart decide. I fucked up so many times when I did that. But I just can’t.”

The smile on Grantaire’s lips lit a tiny spark of hope in Enjolras.

“Being rational has never been my forte. Fuck you, basically, for reminding me of that.” Grantaire grinned a very self-deprecating grin. “I think telling you no the day before yesterday was the only time I actually managed that and then I despised myself for the rest of the time. And then I did it again this afternoon – I don’t know how, actually.” He rubbed his hand over his face and gave a quick laugh. All Enjolras could do was staring at him with big eyes, desperately hoping this was going in the direction he thought it was.

“Well, I guess I did it because I felt like this could not be right. I am a failed art student who lives with his grandmother in the middle of nowhere running a moderately successful business. And you are a successful lawyer going to change the world. I don’t think that is a fair match.”

Enjolras wanted to protest, but he was cut off by the other man talking over him.

“I want you to achieve everything you set your mind on! I never want to see you doubt your abilities again. I meant it when I said I believe you can do it. I’ve only known you for a week, but I know you are capable of it all. That’s why I want you to consider this whole thing again, because I don’t want to hold you back.”

Grantaire smiled at him, a sad smile, one Enjolras wanted to wipe from his face as quickly as possible. With two steps he stood in front of Grantaire and, carefully, took his hands in his own.

“Stop talking so much bullshit, would you?” he asked, provoking a laugh from Grantaire. “I don’t think you could _ever_ hold me back! I actually think you would push me, help me improve. Really, you don’t have to worry about something as stupid as that. Is that concern the only thing keeping you from taking a chance on me?”

Grantaire’s green eyes shone in the dimly lit room, emotions dancing on every feature of his face.

“What about the distance?” He whispered it, like he felt the need to point out the flaws without really wanting to.

“Strasbourg is two hours away. It isn’t ideal, but…but how do you feel about long weekends?” Enjolras felt Grantaire’s hand twist in his, linking their fingers.

“Sounds good.”

“Good. Because I don’t think I can live without knowing how it feels to kiss you.”

Grantaire let go of his hands and for the fraction of a second, Enjolras panicked but then Grantaire’s hands were cupping his face and his lips were on his own.

A tender kiss, a slow kiss.

It was better than anything Enjolras’ mind had come up with over the last 48 hours. He tasted mulled wine and cinnamon on Grantaire’s lips, his hands could feel the body-heat underneath the thin fabric of the shirt. Enjolras pulled him closer, placing one hand on the small of his back and the other finding its way into those soft, dark curls.

Grantaire made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat and Enjolras wanted to hear it again and again and again. The kiss turned more passionate with both of them melting into each other. Grantaire’s tongue was tracing his lips, playing with his. Grantaire’s hands found their way underneath the jumper he was wearing, and Enjolras shivered when he started stroking circles just above his hipbone through his shirt.

Enjolras wanted the kiss to never end. He wanted to make a home in the heat radiating from Grantaire, he wanted to stay forever in the safety of his arms.

But after all, they had to breath, had to stop at some point and it was Grantaire who ended the kiss. Putting his left hand back on Enjolras face, running his thumb over his cheekbone, smiling that soft, soft smile Enjolras liked so much.

“You do realise that coming back here on Christmas Eve to declare that you cannot be without me is actually the most melodramatic thing you could have done?” A smile tugged at the corners of Grantaire’s lips.

“Yeah, well, let’s not talk about that. Won’t happen again.” He laughed and Grantaire caught it with his lips, kissing him until it turned into shared giggling.

Suddenly, Enjolras remembered something Grantaire had said earlier, something twisted in his chest. With one hand he took Grantaire’s left and the other cupped his cheek.

“Listen, Grantaire, I don’t just want to be with you because you held my hand during my melt-down or because I think you can help me when I am in need. That would just mean using you, and I really _don’t_ want that. And I really, really am _not_ better than you – please don’t think that ever again.”

He squeezed his hand, looking in those impossible green eyes. Grantaire looked down, biting his lip – making Enjolras want to kiss him again.

“I am sorry I said that. I don’t actually think that you would use anyone like that. I think it was my last attempt at pushing you away.”

He had that frown on his forehead again Enjolras had seen before and this time he did run his thumb over it, letting his hand rest on Grantaire’s neck. His heart clenched when he thought about the things that must have happened to Grantaire for him to react like that.

“Please don’t do that again, either.” He murmured, bringing their foreheads together.

“I won’t, I promise.” Grantaire slung his arms around his waist and pulled him into a tight hug, burying his head in Enjolras shoulder – Enjolras mirroring the motion.

_([All I Want for Christmas Is You – Mariah Carey](https://open.spotify.com/track/0bYg9bo50gSsH3LtXe2SQn?si=nutwXRjHTu-C3xEoPk_QFg))_

After some time Grantaire pulled away and kissed Enjolras again, light and almost shy.

“Let’s go back to the party. There is one last part to the tradition – fairly new, but delicious. And I think our absence might be suspicions.”

Enjolras snorted. “With the way almost everyone talked to me this evening, I am sure they know exactly what’s happening right now.”

“Ah, you got the pep-talk treatment, too?” Grantaire grinned, the happiest grin Enjolras had seen on his face yet.

“Yup. And I think Éponine even added some kind of threat into it.”

“Oh god! I hope she said nothing embarrassing,” Grantaire groaned with a sheepish half smile.

“I think she called you a whining blob.”

“Well, at least not pathetic looser. Would have fitted as well.”

“And something about Greek gods.”

“Oh shit!” Grantaire buried his face in his hands and laughed helplessly. “Please forget that, okay?”

Enjolras laughed and kissed him on the head and then he took his hand and started to walk out of the room.

They let go of each other when they entered the hall, where they split with a conspiratorial smile. Grantaire going into the living room and Enjolras heading into the breakfast-room, in search of Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

They weren’t there but two silhouettes in the window caught his eye. He walked out of the backdoor into the garden and found his two best friends on the terrace, standing in the soft snowfall that had started at some point that evening.

“Hey!” Enjolras shivered a little in the cold.

Courfeyrac and Combeferre turned around, both looking a little flushed.

“Enjolras! Are you alright?” Combeferre reached out with his hand and pulled him closer to them.

“Yes, I really am” Enjolras had not intended to tell them right away, wanting to enjoy the happy feeling just for himself for the next minutes. But he couldn’t keep the happiness out of his voice or the bright smile from his face.

Courfeyrac squealed a little and pulled him into an enormous hug, over his shoulder he could see Ferre smiling at him.

“This is the best Christmas ever!” Courfeyrac exclaimed and started to dance around them. Enjolras couldn’t help but laugh and joined his friend in a little jumping around the garden.

“Okay, children. Let’s get back inside!” Ferre called with a fond expression and pretended exasperation.

“Hey! Don’t think you get to boss me around now!” Courf shouted but went inside nonetheless.

Ferre put his arm around Enjolras’ shoulder, both walking behind Courfeyrac who stumbled directly into Grantaire who stood at the kitchen door.

“Well, hello you!”

Enjolras chuckled at the surprised face Grantaire was making when he was tackled by Courf and pulled into a hug. Jehan craned his neck around the door frame and when he saw Enjolras he winked with a wide smile.

“You guys are right on time. It’s almost midnight and that means it’s time for the Christmas eggnog. I am just heating it up. You can help carrying the trays!”

And so they were ushered into the kitchen where a lot of glassed with warm, silky, frothy eggnog were waiting. Everyone got a tray and in a festive procession they followed Jehan into the living room where the remaining guests had gathered.

Bahorel and Bossuet cheered loudly when the drinks appeared and started to hand the glasses around. Enjolras found himself next to Grantaire at the fireplace. He was grinning at him, hoping to be discreet but –

“YOU! HAPPY FACE!” Éponine was shouting from where she was standing behind the sofa, a finger pointed at Grantaire. “Your hair looks like you were five minutes of making out away from having sex!”

“Fuck you Ponine!” Grantaire cheerfully flipped her the finger while Enjolras tried to hide his burning red face behind Grantaire’s shoulder.

The whole room erupted in cheers until Grantaire told them to shut up otherwise he would call an end to the party. He got some insults for that but finally everyone calmed down again.

Grantaire rolled his eyes but smiled and took Enjolras free hand in his own.

Enjolras could see Marie beaming from the other side of the room.

Jehan cleared his throat loudly, seeking attention.

“Alright. Now that we all know Grantaire is a happy man again, let us all welcome Christmas Day with a glass of eggnog.” He looked at his watch for a few seconds and then shouted: “A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!” And raised his glass.

Everyone in the room followed suit and raised their glasses and – again – the air was filled wish well wishes and shouts of Merry Christmas! and Happy Christmas!

Grantaire had turned his head and whispered “Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”

“Merry Christmas, Grantaire.”

Grantaire was closing in to give him a kiss but something caught Enjolras eye.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” He shouted, making Grantaire jump a step back looking confused and hurt for a second until he realised that Enjolras was not looking at him but behind him to a corner of the room, pointing a finger at his best friend.

Courfeyrac had his hand raised and was frozen in the motion of toasting towards Cosette on the other side of the room.

Something golden was glinting on his finger.

The room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at them. A blush creeping up Courfeyrac’s cheeks.

“Um…” He slowly turned around to Combeferre who was standing next to him. Ferre simply shrugged, a smiled spreading across his face.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Enjolras repeated but this time he shoved his glass into Grantaire’s hand and with verve he jumped onto the sofa between Joly and Musichetta, and threw himself over the back into the arms of his two dorks, his two best friends, his family.

They caught him, laughing and squeezing him tight, all three starting to talk at the same time:

“ – when did it happen? – “

“ – are you mad? – “

“ – why would I?! – “

“ – happy –“

“ – why didn’t you tell – “

“ – so nervous – “

“ – actually on his knee! –“

“ – you came out just a few minutes after – “

“ – didn’t you want to do it on New Years Eve? – “

“WAIT YOU KNEW?!!?“

Courf was looking between Enjolras and Combeferre, who shrugged again.

“Well, I almost never make big life decisions without asking my best friend first, you know that. Also, that way I got to call dips on him being my best man.”

“That is unfair!” Courfeyrac tried to look offended but a second later he was laughing again.

And now, everyone in the room was on their feet to hug them and congratulate them and wanting to know the details.

Enjolras pulled himself out of the group and stumbled over to Grantaire who was watching the whole show with an amused smile from his place at the fireplace.

“You know,” he said when Enjolras was standing next to him again, “I start to think that you actually _are_ a drama queen.”

Enjolras laughed, he couldn’t help it. He felt happier than he probably had in his whole life.

“Yeah, well, _maybe_. But only when the occasion calls for it!”

He kept laughing until Grantaire shut him up with a big kiss.

[ _Hey Sis, it’s Christmas – RuPaul_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1bMkliPK59b3b6Sjp1UqnB?si=GoJjgEfMTx6v9fibHklEGA)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, friends - that's it. MERRY CHRISTMAS!
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for the emotional turmoil from before! I know that the Ferre/Courf part is a bit random but, tbh, i just love them too much to not include it. And Combeferre said it: Tonight, love is in the air. And we should all listen to Combeferre.
> 
> I really loved writing this and i hope you enjoyed reading it. I loved every comment and every kudo made my heart grow a little. This year has been shit, even though some good things have happened. But I am a sucker for love stories and we all need more of those, i am sure. So, thank you for coming to Remy-le-Chateau with me! 
> 
> There will be a very small, short epiloque tomorrow. But for now I have to eat an obscene amount of cheese, drink wine and egg nogg, eat cake, and dance around to christmas songs.


	14. Epilogue: And we're all together now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peek at the future

[ _Not Just On Christmas -Ariana Grande_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/6JJ4W13A4Q5yeK4g6OROmg?si=-CSkJifbQqyuUdgRv1JFCw)

This truly chaotic Christmas Eve developed into a truly cosy Christmas Day.

It involved brunch with friends and a long Christmas Day walk in the snow. Snowmen were built, snowballs thrown and kisses stolen. Enjolras and Grantaire made an early Christmas dinner out of the delicious left-overs and the five of them shared it in the living room in front of the fireplace. Christmas Day also included a Christmas movie or two. And an early bedtime.

It also involved Enjolras discovering that Grantaire had tattoos and the way his muscles move under his fingers. He learned that Grantaire was ticklish at the waist and where rougher kisses could make him tremble. Enjolras realised that there might never be a sound as sexy as Grantaire cursing under his breath in the darkness of a bedroom. As well as the fact that it was the best sex he’s ever had.

And when the holidays are over?

Well, that is when the future is to be lived.

It will include a lot of things:

Enjolras will start his job in Strasbourg. He’ll move into a pretty little flat that he decorates with the help of Grantaire. He loves the new job and can see all the things he wants to tackle. But he also loves the moment he leaves Friday at noon.

A new position as internist at a hospital in Strasbourg will open in fall. Combeferre and Courfeyrac will decide to leave Paris as well. Ferre has no difficulties getting the position at the hospital. Courfeyrac finally has a reason to quit the job he never really loved and he becomes a partner at Marius practice. 

Grantaire will start to paint again. After a joint exhibition with Jehan – that was intended as a purely local thing – he gets recognition from some of the major art critics of the country. Jehan will be invited to the _Art Paris_.

Even further down the line Combeferre will join Joly as a GP and Courf, slowly but surely, will become an important part of _Le Rosier_. It will result in a mock outrage from Grantaire that they’ll have to change the letterhead into Jean Grantaire & Luc de Courfeyrac.

In the future, Remy-le-Château will be home. 

[ _Home – Robbie Williams_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/1eAge0tWdqaCTvNKphdcFT?si=N0kMpoXnRn2mb2NROjvkDg)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! 
> 
> I hope you have a nice few days without having to face the bad things happening all around us right now. I know that escapism isn't the healthiest way to cope but getting lost in a story was always my favorite way to avoid the bad parts of reality - so i hope our little trip to France was as relaxing and joyful for you as it has been for me. 
> 
> Thank you for every kudo and comment.
> 
> x L.


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